


Infected Unicorn

by nostalgic90s



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger, Animal Abuse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Five Stages of Grief, Heavy Angst, Human Trafficking, Hypnotism, I am sad and want to write sad stuff, Implied/Referenced Incest, Inspired by the movie Split, M/M, Medication, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multiple Personalities, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Happy, Overcoming Adversity, Physical Abuse, Postpartum Depression, Pyromania, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Verbal Abuse, Violent Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic90s/pseuds/nostalgic90s
Summary: A modern AU where Jeremiah Valeska finds himself in Arkham Asylum for a crime he's not even sure he committed.Harlen Quinzel takes on her youngest patient yet, a child at that, and is given the Herculean task of diagnosing the disturbed boy. Jeremiah's warped sense of reality and time presents a challenge and if she doesn't tread carefully, she may lose herself in his labyrinthine mind.





	1. Harleen's Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Heeey it's me again with another, depressing, angst story. I was inspired by my research on 'Grief', more so the 5 stages of grief. THAT, and you'll see dabbles of the movie 'Split' in here because that s*** BLEW my mind. So if you like the movie, you might like the similar concept I'm going for: Messed up parents, messed up childhood, every kind of abuse you can imagine, and the results ---> AKA our boy Jeremiah Valeska. 
> 
> WARNING: I'll update the triggers and tags as I go, but please be aware, this is going to involve a lot of underage violence and physical/sexual abuse. There'll be mentions of postpartum depression, schizophrenia, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and dissociative identity disorder.
> 
> The story will go back and forth from current events to past events - flashbacks and what not, I'll be sure to distinguish the chapters.
> 
> So without further ado, here we go~

** Tape Recorder Test: **

_Testing…. testing… Going to rewind and playback-_

_Everything appears to be working. This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, I’ve a new patient who will be arriving tomorrow morning. For all intents and purposes, I’m going to refer to him by his patient number to maintain an unbiased point of view. There’s an ongoing investigation regarding his…. circumstances._

_Professor Hugo Strange has assigned me the task of diagnosing and treating Patient E-146, my youngest patient to date._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 1 - 08 June 2001 **

_Patient displays signs and symptoms relevant to growing up in an abusive household._

_Patient arrived with two large bruises on his face and a swollen eye with a ruptured blood vessel. Vitals collected at Gotham Central Hospital indicates neglect, as he is underweight for his age group and might be suffering a stunt in growth._

_An accompanying officer pointed out poor hygiene and inadequate clothing._

_Child Protective Services has not returned our phone calls._

_Gotham Central Police Department is attempting to track down patient’s biological father._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 2 - 17 June 2001 **

_Patient has yet to express himself verbally. I’ve given him writing utensils and paper, however, the objects remain unused._

_Patient hasn’t said a word since arrival._

_Emotional abuse indicators: Extreme social withdrawal and possible delayed emotional development._

_Patient succumbs to hyperventilating and panic attacks when touched. There must be a proper warning and declared intent prior to touching; doctors and nurses have adjusted their procedures._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 3 - 26 June 2001 **

_The court order finally went through and CPS was subpoenaed to produce all documents and records pertaining to Patient NO: E-146._

_I don’t want to comment on the explicit contents of the surrendered files … But from what I’ve gathered, Patient E-146 has a sibling, a detail I wasn’t aware of. With newfound knowledge on the patient’s history, I’ll refine my approach and modify our upcoming session._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 4 - 05 July 2001 **

_Patient E-146 attacked an orderly last night and bit into his forearm, removing a sizable piece of flesh. This is the first recorded episode of violence and interaction between patient and staff._

_Patient is heavily sedated._

_Session will have to be rescheduled._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 5 - 29 July 2001 **

_Patient displays cognizance. I was uncertain at first, and initially presumed autism._

_I don’t believe that’s true anymore._

_Patient E-146 has been observing and listening._

_To support my theory, I was engaged in conversation outside the patient’s room with Dr. Hugo Strange, regarding Patient E-146’s health; he hasn’t been eating or drinking fluids, resulting in more weight loss. Dr. Strange suggested IV tubes and vitamins to supplement the nutrition he’s lacking, and if it’s necessary, he can be sedated for a few weeks._

_The following day, Patient E-146 consumed every meal and snack the orderlies dropped off. Since then, he’s had no trouble eating and staying hydrated._

_I'll alter my approach again._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 6 - 02 August 2001 **

_No verbal communication this time, but the pointing gestures and nods are a considerable breakthrough._

_I brought in a variety of fruit for today’s session, it’s the good stuff that they don’t serve in the cafeteria. All I did was ask him to point out his favorite fruits and he did so without hesitation._

_Patient gravitated towards apples, strawberries, and raspberries – he’s partial to red, it would seem. For his participation, he’s awarded healthy fruits and he seems to relish them._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 7 - 09 August 2001 **

_Repeated the fruit activity._

_Results deviated from our last session._

_He picked all the yellow fruits out and didn’t touch anything red. Patient E-146 nibbled on a banana, but he didn’t finish, nor did he seem to enjoy eating fruit at all – forced consumption? I'm not sure why he'd resort to that._

** Patient NO: E-146 - Log 8 - 21 August 2001 **

_Repeated the fruit activity again._

_This time, patient refuses to touch the fruit. When informed he could eat any fruit he wants, patient proceeded to smash the fruit between his hands and smear it all over the table._

_This is my first time hearing him laugh._

_Patient E-146 has changed his mind 3 times about fruit preference. That doesn’t normally occur for children, hence the phrase ‘picky eaters’._

_Almost 3 months have passed since Patient E-146’s arrival. Perception of his surroundings has already been established, including his ability to engage in non-verbal communication. For the next session, I plan to address what happened at home and why he was admitted to Arkham Asylum in the first place._


	2. Gotham Gazette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After numerous failed attempts, Harleen tries to jog Jeremiah's memories by showing him a published article that mentions his mother.

 

“Do you recognize your mother’s name in the headlines?”

No answer.

“What about the picture? That’s your apartment, isn’t it?”

A slight crinkle forms in his brow but the boy refuses to look at the Gotham Gazette. Instead, he looks everywhere else, pretending that the nooks and crannies are far more interesting to him. He declines to answer.

Harleen sighs and she places the newspaper article down on the table. She pushes her glasses up and rubs her tired eyes with thumb and index finger. This was their 5th therapy session and the boy STILL refuses to participate. It wasn’t just her; he didn’t talk to any of the staff or the GCPD officers. Even the detective who originally brought the kid in, a Mr. Gordon or something, couldn’t get him to speak.

Maybe it was for the best.

Maybe the patient wasn’t ready to process what had happened.

The psychologist lowers her hand and studies the boy sitting across from her. Emerald orbs, auburn hair, glasses that are too large for his face, and freckles for days… The adorable presence doesn’t scream sadistic murderer.

However, the police and autopsy report suggest otherwise.

“Can I go home now?”

Harleen’s head shot up faster than the speed of light. “Y-you can talk?!”   

“Yes…” Jeremiah’s eyes are impossibly wide and owlish behind his thick-framed glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I created that image up there. It's a shitty newspaper article but I tried my best! XD
> 
> But, I did do some research on newspaper articles regarding murders, found some interesting stuff. 
> 
> If you like the newspaper article and wanna use it for something, just credit me as the creator :D would super appreciate it, thank you~


	3. Paul And Lila’s Absolutely TRUE Love Story (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time.

 

The Cicero and Valeska families do not hail from Gotham City, let alone the United States of America. One is from Italy, and the other from Russia, and yet, the two families grew close when they decided to put down roots in Gotham. They may speak different languages and come from different countries, but the fact they are immigrants bonds them, unites them as an independent people.

Strong family traditions and practices are common among the ethnic groups in Gotham, the most popular being marriage.

Marriage, what a joyful occasion that brings out the best in people (and sometimes the worst). Whether it’s to gain financial status, increase the bloodline, pay off a debt, or end a brooding conflict between families, marriage is preferable solution. Whatever the reason may be, children don’t have a say in the matter.

You must honor your mother, and father, and grandparents’ wishes, no matter how much you might disagree.

 

* * *

 

The Ciceros are primarily farmers; it’s what they did back home, and they brought the skill set with them to the states. They threw their savings together and pitched in to buy a plot of land and from their soil, they grew healthy crops that were in high demand. It didn’t take long for the family to spread out and purchase acres of land for themselves, so long as they adhered to a contract; they eventually expand and bring in livestock for added income.

Hardworking, honest, and humble, everyone knew the Cicero name carried these traits. Their men are often the most desirable for husbands because they can provide a home, and plentiful food. By no means is the family extravagantly wealthy, then again, that depends on an individual's definition of 'wealth'. Their tattered clothing and rustic appearance is a reflection of hard labor, everyone in the local area knows that.

It’s known that one member of the Cicero family ventured off into the city and made a name for himself; he changed his name to Falcone, in honor of his deceased mother. From time to time, he’ll employ young men from his family – if they can prove their worth and loyalty. Nobody is sure what business Mr. Falcone runs in Gotham, but they don’t question it.

The women of the family are robust and strong, much like their husbands. They’re known for their quality hand-sewn clothes and blankets. An added bonus, the Cicero women are the BEST cooks in Gotham City. What they couldn’t earn selling clothes, they supplemented for home-cooked meals at authentic, Italian-owned restaurants.

Paul Cicero was one of the luckier ones; his parents weren’t nagging on him for grandbabies. He was able to live his life as a successful farmer, working diligently under his father’s supervision. Many families wanted to marry their teenage daughters off to the respectable Paul, who has never had time to date. He politely declines the offers, as tempting as they may be.

 

* * *

 

The Valeskas…. Hardcore alcoholics with silver tongues and sticky hands. They weren’t the most respected family in the area, but they are certainly the strongest and most attractive.

The men in the family are fighters and most of them earn their living beating on people. Pending family approval, some of the younger men went on to serve in the military, while others scored successful, high-paying jobs by working for Fish Mooney or Don Falcone.

There was one Valeska who channeled his talents, contacted the right recruiter, and became Gotham’s most esteemed boxing champion. However, after retirement, everybody forgot about the famous boxer BUT they didn’t forget how the Valeska uppercut could take down any man.

The women are a remarkable sight. Whispered rumors suggest witchcraft and gypsy magic are responsible for their unmatched beauty; they could swoon crowds and have any man of their choosing. Unfortunately, their beauty is also their curse – they aren’t praised for their education and talents, but in their ability to birth out gorgeous children for their husband and families. It would seem their destiny was always going to revolve around an arranged marriage and bearing children.

Lila Valeska, a budding young woman with a fiery spirit, doesn’t particularly like being told what to do. She’s a rebel with big dreams and there’s not a chance in hell she’s going to let her parents give her away to some stranger who’ll turn her into a fat, birthing cow. No, she’s going to run away and create a life for herself – LIVE for herself. 

Constant arguments with her father and mother result in harsh punishments, including several good whippings that scar her back and shoulders. Still, it doesn’t break her resilient determination and she puts together a clever plan to get out of Gotham.

 

* * *

 

After an EXTREMELY busy harvest, Paul Cicero’s father dismisses him, along with his nephews and cousins, to go and party the night away; tomorrow is Sunday, and everyone knows they don’t work on the Lord ’s Day.

Paul isn’t much of a drinker like his family, although a night out in town sounds like a pleasant distraction for his aching muscles and bones.

The 35-year-old burnt ginger races home and showers off before getting ready for the evening. He slicks crimson locks back with hair grease and gives himself a fresh shave. He dabs spicy cologne along his neck and button-down shirt before grabbing his car keys. He picks up his friends (mostly family) along the way and they head over to the nearest bar.  

 

* * *

 

Sweet 16, yeah right… If anyone is excited about birthday festivities, it’s Lila’s parents. The brunette narrowed her honey-brown eyes on the blubbering idiots she called mother and father. They were making fools out of themselves trying to sing happy birthday in their Slavic tongue. Oh God, how embarrassing….

Just as Lila predicts, her mother is the first to pass out in the living room.

The birthday girl pretends to eat cake and she watches her father stagger into the kitchen to pour himself another glass of vodka.

THUNK!

BAM!

Pausing, Lila set her fork down and pushed her chair back from the table. She entered the kitchen and saw a plastic cup on the floor, submerged in a pool of vodka. In the corner of the kitchen lies her father, sprawled out on the floor with a red mass forming on his forehead; he must’ve passed out standing up and slammed his head into the counter.

Perfect timing. Lila was eager to get on the road.

It takes her less than an hour to pack a suitcase full of clothes and feminine products. Once she’s done, she raids her parents’ bedroom and scrounges up $50.00 – it wasn’t much, but it was a start. She had a little bit of money saved up from babysitting gigs and it should hold her over until she can find a job; she doesn’t mind the idea of living out of a car, just as long as she can find a sink to wash off.

Stealing her father’s car keys, Lila bolts from the house and climbs into a brown, 1980 AMC Eagle – father’s pride and joy. She threw her belongings in the back seat, started the vehicle, and vacated the neighborhood.

 

* * *

 

Crowds of onlookers’ cheer: “CHUG, CHUG, CHUG IT YOU FUCKING MONSTER!”

There’s a stocky Irish man who finishes his pitcher of beer first and he slams it down against the table with a triumphant smirk, “HAH! Ya call that drinkin’ ya wee baby?!”

The 2nd man gags on the foam in his drink and momentarily pauses. He humbly accepts his defeat by placing his pitcher down (it still had ¼ of beer in it) and whipping out a wad of cash. “Here,” he grunts, shoving the folded up bills into the Irish guy’s hand.

“Cheer up boyo! At least you’ll get yerself a good shaggin’ when ya get home!”  The Irish guy takes his winnings and throws his arms up in the air, “I’m off the jacks but when I get back… FREE ROUND OF DRINKS ON ME!”

Everybody inside the bar erupts into wild cheer and applause.

Paul smiles and rolls his eyes at the boisterous theatrics of his Irish friend Manny; the two are farmers, and close to the same age. The redhead sips on his Jack and Coke, only to splutter some of the dark liquid out when a hand slaps him behind the head.

“Pauly! Ya still nursing that thing?! Shit, it’s been an hour man, time for something stronger eh?”

“Oh, no can do. I’m driving, so…” Paul clung to his watered-down beverage when Carl, his nephew, tried pulling it out of his grip.

“Driving he says!” Carl snaps his eyes, “When are ya ever gonna let loose? Better yet…” The younger male glances around the room, “When are ya gonna take one these fine dames’ home with ya? They’re lookin’ to get loose and sloppy tonight if ya know what I mean~” He winks and elbows his uncle in the side.

The description makes Paul wrinkle his nose. Granted, it’s been awhile since he felt a woman’s touch but… He didn’t like picking up drunk women, he always felt guilty, like he was using their intoxication to his advantage. “Not tonight Carl, just gonna sit back and enjoy my watered-down alcohol. Hey, yer lookin’ parched there… want me to order an apple juice? Some milk on the rocks maybe?”

Carl snorts, “Pff! Fuck off.” He left his uncle alone and moseyed over to the scantily dressed women.

“Hah.” Paul smirks and rolls his eyes. He sets his glass down on the counter and pulls out his cigarettes and matches.

“Nah uh, outside man,” the bartender grunts.

Paul forgot how much Eddie (the current bartender) hates cigarette smoke. He nods, gets up from his seat, and exits the bar.

The shouting matches get louder inside, meaning a fight was going to happen or there was another drinking competition – probably the latter. He strikes a match against the side of the box and it hisses to life. He’s about to light up a cigarette when he hears screaming coming from down the road, a little way past the bar.

Emerald eyes dart towards the sound and he drops the lit match on the ground, snuffing it out with his heel.

 

* * *

 

Lila has the shittiest luck. She hadn’t even gotten close to the freeway when she snagged a nail in one of the tires and had to pull over.

“Fuck, fuck, FUUUUCCKK!” Lila was fuming and she climbed out of the vehicle. She checked the trunk and underneath the seats for a spare tire but once again, Lady Karma wanted to shit all over her plans. She didn’t have a spare, she didn’t have a tire jack, and she didn’t know anybody in the city that could help; her only option was to locate a phone and call her parents.

Headlights approach and a man calls out, “Is everything okay sweetheart?”

Lila sighs in relief and turns around to face the stranger. She saw a face through the passenger side and felt a little at ease; it was an older gentleman in a fancy suit and tie. “Yes….. No, nothing is okay.” She purses her lips in a full pout and makes sure to squeeze her arms together, showing off her prominent chest – might as well use her assets to her advantage. “C-can you help me? I got a flat and I don’t have a spare tire or a jack…”

It works. The man finds himself staring at the young women’s busty chest. “Well of course little lady, give me a second to pull over.”

“Thank you Sir!” Lila flashes him a grateful smile. She leans against the car and waits patiently; maybe her plans will work out after all.

The man pops his trunk open and digs around for tools. He finds a jack and a spare tire that’s about the same size as the one on the girl’s vehicle. He walks over to the back of her ride and whistles when he see’s the deflated tire, “Nails and glass are bad on these roads… Rotten luck I tell ya.”

“Tell me about it,” Lila hovers nearby. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Changing a tire is a man’s job, you just stand there lookin’ pretty for me okay?” The man grins, showing of a set of yellow-stained teeth.

“Aww, you’re too kind~” Lila giggles at the remark, ignoring the heavy pit in her stomach.

It doesn’t take long for the stranger to complete the task and he stands up, observing the tire match and size. “It’s a little too big… but if you drive below 30 miles per hour, it should get you home without damaging your struts.”

“Oh my God, thank you Sir!” Lila put a hand over her heart, clearly relieved. “How much? I can pay you for the spare tire.”

“Aww don’t worry about honey. Just go put this back inside my trunk-” He holds out the tire jack, “-and I’ll throw your damaged tire away, it ain’t worth saving.”

“Oh, okay. Are you sure?” Lila took the tire jack, it wasn’t too heavy.

“Yup, go on now.” He urges her to move so he can grab the shredded up tire from the ground.

Lila nods and she walks over to his car. She leans over the open trunk and sets the car jack inside-

All of a sudden, Lila feels something pressing against her rear and there’s a firm grip on her hips. She tenses and tries to turn around, “The hell are you doing?!”

The man squeezes down on Lila’s hips and he shoves his hips forward, making sure to plant his feet wide against the ground. He pins her in place, preventing her from turning around. “Collecting my payment~” he sneers.

Great. Another, fucking, pedophile. Lila grits her teeth together and tries to remain calm. “Let go old man, or I swear you’re going to fucking regret it.”

The response has the man cackling in delight. “Haha! Oh my, what a naughty little mouth. I can’t wait to see what else it can do.”

Lila’s heart sinks. She turns her head and makes a grab for the tire jack. Her fingers barely wrap around it when the stranger yanks her hair and drags her backwards. “OUCH! YOU’RE HURTING ME!”

“KEEP YOUR WHORE MOUTH SHUT!” The man snarls, before shoving the young woman against the hood of her vehicle. He proceeds to grip her legs and push them apart, eyeing her cotton panties like a hungry wolf.

Of all days to wear a dress… Lila chose comfort, thinking she was going to be on the road all night long. She now regrets the decision and nearly vomits at how gross the man looks. “Get the fuck off me!” She tries to knee him in the groin.

SMACK!

Everything flashes white and red.

The hard smack dazes Lila for a second. She feels the stranger hiking up her dress past her stomach and he’s peeling her underwear off. The second his disgusting mouth touches her, Lila lets out an earsplitting scream.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

SMACK!

Another strike against her face.

Lila’s voice cuts off and, for the first time, in a very long time, she wants her mother to hug her.

The man resumes his position by pressing his lips to Lila’s crotch and-

Two hands shoot out and grip the pervert by his shoulders.

Lila hears a gasp and a startled cry, prompting her to raise her head and look down.

Another man had appeared. He lifts the sick rapist off his feet and literally tosses him across the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Gah!” The man yelps in pain when he collides into a big rock.

Lila hastily pulls her panties up and shoves her dress down. She scrambles off the vehicle and takes off at a running pace. 

“W-wait I’m not trynna hurt ya!” Paul shouts out. Bewildered, he stands frozen in place; he fears he might’ve scared the poor girl. Wait, did he do the right thing? It didn’t look like she was enjoying herself… Yeah, he did a good deed. That old creep deserved to get his ass kicked and –

Paul let his guard down and he fails to notice movement behind him.

The stranger retrieves his car jack and strikes the unsuspecting man over his head with it.

THUNK!

Paul loses vision, and his ability to stand.

THUD!

The redhead crashes face first into the road. He’s not unconscious, but he’s not entirely lucid either. A painful groan pushes past his lips.

“You little piece of shit!” the stranger growls out threateningly, “You’re going to pay for that. You and your whore girlfriend deserve each other!”

Paul barely manages to raise his head and look up; everything is blurry.

Raising the object above his head, the stranger prepares to attack the younger male when he feels a light tap on his shoulder.

“Hey asshole.”

The man turns around just in time to feel a bony fist connect with his nose.

KRRRK!

Something pops.

Blinding pain renders the stranger helpless. He drops the car jack and stumbles, hands flailing out to try to grab onto something.

Lila casually steps away, watches the older man trip over his car jack, before nose-diving into the road.

“Holy shit….” Paul whispers. He sits up slowly and stares at the unconscious man, whose eyes are rolled into the back of his head. He casts a cautious glance at the girl, “I ain’t tryna rape ya or nothin’.”

“I know.” Lila acknowledges him with a nod. She walks over to the redhead and offers her hand, “Ouch… your face…”

“Huh?” Paul blinks, soon noticing the aching throb in his face and head; he probably has road rash on cheek and a sizable bump on his head. He takes the girl’s hand and hoists himself up onto his feet. “Sorry, kinda always had this ugly mug.”

Lila giggles at the remark, “I’ve seen worse.”

“Ouch… well I hope I’m at the bottom of the list then,” Paul smiles and looks down at the unconscious stranger. “There’s a bar right down the road… Should I uh, call the cops or somethin’?”

“No,” Lila shakes her head, “I’ve dealt with enough pigs already. I think I should get going-”

A loud hissing noise startles the pair.

Feeling exasperated, Lila walks up to the tire and shakes her head. “No! No, no, no this can’t be happening!”

The spare tire, provided by the stranger, had a steady air leak and it was deflating fast. She turns around and addresses the redhead, “Do you have a spare tire?”

“Uhhh, no I don’t. I’m sorry.” Paul bit his bottom lip when the girl’s eyes watered up with tears. “Look I got my ride with me, I can give ya a ride anywhere ya need to go.”

“Thanks…” Lila presses her palms against her eyes to smother out tears. “But I was kind of hoping to leave town tonight…”

“Oh, I see…” Paul looks at her car and notices a suitcase in the back seat. He recognizes the make and model; it’s an older ride that probably belongs to her dad or uncle.

Lila knows she’ll be in big trouble when her dad finds out, so she’s already working on excuses about why she took the vehicle. Shit, she might have to use her savings to buy another tire… All this worrying was giving her a headache. She looks at the other, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“You didn’t ask,” Paul says.

“No, guess I didn’t.” She eyes the scrapes and cuts on his face, “You should let me look at that.”

“It’s nothing, really.” Paul shrugs.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Touché.”

 

* * *

 

Paul is back at the bar with his mystery acquaintance. He sits still on a bar stool, eyes clamped shut.

Lila uses a tweezers to pluck out pieces of gravel from the abrasions on his face, “Does it hurt?”

“Mmm, nope.” Paul is rigid and he fidgets with his hands.

“You know…” Lila is amused by Paul’s attempts to avoid staring at her chest, which is right in front of his face while she works. “You don’t have to keep your eyes closed, and stop doing that with your hands. You’re not a nervous schoolgirl.”

“Heh,” Paul chuckles at the observation. “It would be indecent to stare, especially after what happened…”

That was a first. Lila never had a complete stranger consider her feelings, or anyone for that matter. She smiles and grabs another small piece of gravel, “All you Ciceros'…. So modest.”

Paul’s eyes flutter open and he quickly averts his gaze by looking up at the girl. “How’d you know I was a Cicero?”

Lila pauses, tweezers in hand. She looked Paul up and down and smirks a little. “Red hair, green eyes, and you have that…. UGLY farmers’ tan going on.”

“Hey! Tanning is out of my control,” Paul hunches his shoulders defensively and after a brief pause, he decides to address his observations too. “I ain’t ever seen a woman knock a guy out in one punch… I’m impressed.”

Lila blushes slightly, “Thank you.”

“Plus, yer really beautiful and your skin is perfect,” Paul continues.

“Okay, that’s flattering and borderline creepy,” Lila smiles anyway.

“I’m just stating the obvious toots, yer a Valeska ain’t cha?”

“Bingo! You have me all figured out don’t your Mr. Cicero?” Lila pinched his uninjured cheekbone, “You deserve a gold star.”

Paul laughed at the gesture and comment, “Pfft! Gold stars are for nerds and wimps…. But….” His eyes flash playfulness and he points to one of his dimples, “A little sugar never hurt anyone.”

Without missing a beat, Lila leans forward and kisses the dimple on his cheekbone.

Not expecting her to do that, Paul flushes a deep, burning red. He’s too shocked to speak.

“Oooooh! Someone finally took my advice huh?” It was Carl, and he joined Paul on his right side by taking the empty bar stool seat.

“Advice?” Lila glances at Carl.

“Yeah! I was just telling this old fart to go pick up a few sleazy-”

Paul turns and smacks Carl upside the head.

“OUCH!” Carl scowls. “Whatdya do that for?!”

“You talk too much,” Paul said coolly.

“Whatever…yer just showing off to yer new girlfriend,” Carl grumbles.

Lila interjects, “I’m not his girlfriend.”

The honest statement stings but Paul tries to play it off by agreeing, “Yeah what she said.”

“Really?” Carl looks over his uncle’s shoulder and unabashedly stares at the young woman. “In that case, would you mind sharing a little sugar with me?”

Lila narrows her eyes disapprovingly, “What are you 10? Go play mommy with someone else.”

Carl’s jaw unhinges and drops to the floor (if that were possible).

Paul chortles loudly, “HAHAHAHA!”

“You…. You got her in on this too?!” Carl points an accusing finger at Lila and Paul. “Sheesh, you deserve each other. I’m outta here.” He takes off in an angry huff and stomps across the room.

“Good one,” Paul says after his laughter dies down. He looks up at the clock hanging above the bar and notices it’s almost closing time. “It’s gettin’ pretty late….” He turns his emerald hues on the other, “I can give you a ride home? Then I’ll ask my dad if I can borrow his truck and I’ll have my asshole nephew help me tow it back to your place.”

Lila stares, completely taken aback by the kind offer. “You would do that for me? A stranger? Why?”

Paul grins and shrugs, “To be fair yer not a COMPLETE stranger… I got yer last name, didn’t I?”

Lila waits.

“Okay, okay, I think yer pretty and I wanna help you out. I don’t expect nothing in return! We probably won’t see each other again if you do manage to skip town.” He can see the Valeska girl doesn’t believe him, so he raises his right pinky. “Pinky promise, I wanna help you out and make sure no perverted old creeps try to touch ya again.”

“…….That… is the NICEST thing anyone has ever said to me.” Lila’s honey-brown eyes shine underneath the fluorescent lighting, making them appear golden in appearance. She hooks her right pinky with Cicero’s own, “Okay you can give me a ride home….”

Lila averts her gaze and she blinks back tears.

“What’s wrong?” Concerned, Paul lowers his hand.

“I… I don’t want to go home right now.”

“Oh…” A solution comes to Paul’s mind and he blurts it out fast, “Wanna go stargazing?”

“Star…gazing?” Lila repeats incredulously.

“Y-yeah….I mean…” Paul stammers and feels the embarrassing burn in his face again. He looks away and scratches the back of his head, wincing a little when he touched the sensitive bump. “It’s stupid, I know. Forget it.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that.” Lila grabs his hand and gently squeezes it between both of her own. “No one has ever asked me to do that and well, stars are beautiful and underappreciated… I would LOVE to go stargazing with you.”

 

* * *

 

Gotham has many parks but Paul’s favorite one is ‘Mount Olympus’, named for its high peaks and running trails.

Paul parks his vehicle next to a fence and he shows the girl where somebody had cut a miniature passageway through the fencing. He had to crouch down and awkwardly waddle through the opening, which she giggles at – Miss Valeska had a very cute laugh, one that Paul enjoyed.

Lila is smaller and doesn’t have to contort her body to get through the opening; she passes with ease.

The two take a stride over a hill that overlooks the city landscape; it’s breathtakingly beautiful at night.

Paul had grabbed a blanket earlier from his car and he carefully rolls it out over the grass. He sat down and patted the empty area next to him.

Lila doesn’t hesitate to sit down on the soft blanket, and she scoots close to Cicero’s side, preferring to lean against him.

Unsure if it was appropriate, Paul tentatively puts his arm around her shoulders.

Whether or not she approves, Lila doesn’t express it. She stares up at the sparkling night sky, a serene smile and glow radiated off her. “When did you get into stargazing?”

Paul feels the nervous tension leave his body and he follows her gaze. “Like 9 or 10 maybe? I was into space rockets, aliens, and all that other crap but when I got older… I dumped science fiction and opted for books on planets, meteors, and star constellations – I like the stories behind em’.”

“Wow…” Lila had to admit, Paul sounded a 100 times smarter when he was talking about his passion. She snuggles closer and rests her head against his shoulder, “Tell me more. I want to know everything about your favorite star constellations.”

“You got it doll, just be prepared to be bored to death.”  

 

* * *

 

Lila is anything but bored. She didn’t know much about stars constellations and yet here she was, learning new things about the galaxy around them. At some point they decided to lay down and Lila’s upper body was positioned over Cicero’s chest, her ear pressed over his beating heart. Her head is tucked right underneath the man’s jaw and so she feels every word against her raven locks. Her favorite part had to be his big, strong arm wrapped protectively around her lower back; he doesn’t try to grab at her ass or slip his hand underneath her dress. She had only met him a few hours ago but Lila felt safe and content, like he would never intentionally hurt her.

Paul has butterflies in his stomach and God, his heart was racing fast. Can the Valeska girl hear it? Shit, that thing was about to rip out of his chest. On the outside, he appears calm and he distracts himself from his nervousness by rambling about the Greeks and how they used stars to navigate the sea. When he pauses to see if Lila is listening, she throws out speculations of her own and asks him questions that are difficult to answer– he’s eager to explain every little detail he has stored away in his head. It warms his heart to know she’s paying attention and she appears to trust him – he pays attention to where he places his hand.

“That’s the archer’s bow, right?” Lila raises her hand and points her index finger to the night sky.

“Uh, no, that’s just a cluster of stars.”

“Oh….” Lila blushes in the dark and lowers her hand.

Paul laughs softly because he can feel her heated face against his neck. “It’s a common mistake, people always mix up his bow and quiver. C’mere-” He takes her hand before she can hide it away and he guides her index finger to the star constellation in question. “See? The curve of the bow is longer than his body and quiver, you can follow it like this.” He moves her hand in a slow arch shape.

“I think I see it,” Lila comments; his hand feels calloused and warm. “I never met a guy who loves stars as much as you do.” She turns her hand and gently interlocks their fingers.

“Yeah? Doubt there’s any guys into this kinda shit.” He holds her hand in his own, bringing it down and pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “It’s nice talking to someone who isn’t gonna bash on me for liking what I like. I mean, Christ I’m a farmer, I stare at the sky all day every day.”

“I think it’s romantic,” Lila says with a giggle. She felt the kiss against her knuckles, taking note of how soft his lips are – she thought they would be rough and chapped, sort of like his hands. “Mmm… I bet I know a star constellation you don’t know.”

“What’s that now?” Paul quirks an eyebrow curiously, “Okay I’ll bite. What star constellation might that be?”

Lila raises Cicero’s hand and guides his index finger over the stars, tracing out specific shapes.

For the next few minutes, Paul is quiet. His mind repeats the pattern inside his head and when it finally clicks, he turns his head with a big smile on his face. He’s smiling so much, in fact, that every pearly white is showing.

God, Lila loves his perfect smile.

“Lila Valeska… That’s a pretty name for an even prettier girl.”

“Took you long enough, thought I’d have to spell it out again.” Lila inclines and presses her forehead against the other, while gazing into those stunning green gems of his.

They’re close enough to feel each other’s hot breath over their mouths.

Paul swallows nervously and doesn’t tear his gaze away.

“Well?” Lila pretends to pout, “You’re not going to tell me yours?”

“You uh, didn’t ask.”

Lila kisses him right then and there.

Electric sparks zip through Paul’s face and his lips tingle from the contact; her lips are smooth and perfect, with a hint of vanilla on them.

“Need I clarify?” Lila slowly pulls back.

“No…It’s Paul.” He rolls to his right side and rests his left hand on her face, fingers intertwining with her dark hair.

“Nice to meet you Paul Cirero.” Lila smiles fondly and she does the same thing by placing her hand over the side of Paul’s head. She ruffled up his red hair, finding the course, oily texture fascinating; did he use some kind of hair product? If it wasn’t the intimate moment they were sharing, she’d tease him about it.

“Nice to meet you Lila Valeska.” Paul was almost certain Lila can hear his heart. That smile of hers was to die for, and honestly, that had to be his favorite part about her. Fuck him twice and feed him rice, he’s falling hard for this woman. She was perfect in every way but Paul’s inner conscious convinced him this wasn’t right; Lila had been in a vulnerable state when he met her.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Not with someone who was so young and on the run from her folks; he assumed that was the case, most teenagers don’t own a functionable vehicle with up-to-date license plates. If Paul pushes this any further, he was going to fuck her chances up of leaving the city for good.

“Lila?”

“Yeah?”

“We better get going. I’ll drive you home.” Paul pulls away form her grip and sits up.

“Huh? Right now?” Alarmed, Lila sits up too and she grips one of Paul’s hands. “Look at me.”

Paul stares holes into the ground, refusing to acknowledge the request.

Lila’s voice softens, “Paul Cicero… Please, won’t you look at me?”

Fuck his soft heart and weakness for pretty girls. Paul reluctantly faces Lila.

Lila cups Paul’s face and draws him closer. This time, she kisses him with more intensity then before, more desperation and want.

Paul unintentionally moans into the kiss and he leans closer, prodding his tongue against her lips.

The moan sent pleasant chills throughout her body. Lila grants him access by parting her lips and accepting his tongue.

Things get heated fast. Both strip all their clothes off and Paul crawls over the brunette, positioning himself between her welcoming thighs. He took a moment to admire her unmarked body, there wasn’t a single scar or bruise.

Lila moves her hands up and down Paul’s chest, fingers trailing over feverish skin. His body was a literal map of scars, some are flat and smooth, while others are raised and bumpy. Why would a farmer have all those scars? The thought is immediately dismissed when a finger pushed into her womanhood. “AH!”

Afraid he might hurt her, Paul proceeds to retract his finger.

“Don’t, please-” Overcoming the initial shock, Lila grabs his wrist and stops him. “Keep going. I-I’m a virgin so I k-know it’ll hurt.”

“Lila… Are you sure about this? You should be saving yourself for marriage-”

Lila delivers a sharp bite into the side of Paul’s neck.

“Nnnn!!!!!” Paul flinches at the pain.

“Please-” Lila whispers against his neck, “-don’t tell me how to live my life. I deal with so much shit at home… Marriage, kids, I’m fucking sick of it…”

Paul listens and his breath hitches when he feels hot liquid staining his neck. “Okay, okay…. I’m sorry.” He carefully and gently pushes his finger back inside her tight heat, moving all the way down to the knuckle.

Lila whimpers and instinctively tightens up around the foreign invader.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, I’ll take care of ya.” Paul tilts his head and presses soft kisses along her neck. He moves lower and lower, trailing kisses down to her breasts. He opens his mouth and takes in her left nipple, sucking and massaging the sensitive flesh with his tongue.

“Oooh, Paul…” Lila shivers at the pleasurable sensation and she relaxes around his probing finger.

Paul feels the muscle slack, prompting him to insert a 2nd finger. While he’s stimulating her nipple, he begins to work his fingers in and out at a steady pace.

Lila responds by thrusting her hips into his fingers and pulling at his greasy red hair.

When he pushes inside her, Paul deliberately curves his fingers and jabs at her sweet spot.

“Fuck!” Lila practically mewled like an animal in heat. She rocked her hips faster, wanting him to hit that reliable bundle of nerves again.

Warm slick envelopes his fingers and Paul can sense her desperation in her movements; she’s trying to angle her own hips to pleasure herself. He lets go of her swollen nipple and readjusts himself over her body. He presses his left hand against the blanket and raises his hips. He uses his right hand to grip the base of his cock and give it a few, purposeful strokes; pre-cum was already leaking from the tip.

“Please…Please Paul~” Lila whined softly, already missing the sensual finger-fucking.

Paul kisses her roughly, and deeply.

Lila gasps but she quickly catches on and moves her mouth in sync with his. She dips her tongue inside, shivering when Paul nips at her tongue. She loops her arms around his neck and holds him close.

The kiss is something else, hell, it’s out of this fucking world. Paul’s head is swimming, and his body feels light and airy – like being high or drunk, but oh-so-much better. He hovers over Lila missionary style and guides the tip of his cock to her wet entrance. Before he can do anything else, Lila plunges herself onto his erect length.

They moan simultaneously. For Paul it’s the sudden tightness and heat. For Lila it’s the bite of penetration and size – God, he’s HUGE!

Paul pushes into Lila’s virgin hole, feeling a slight tug, like a barrier preventing him from going further. He bites Lila’s bottom lip and forcefully bucks his hips, breaking her hymen in the process.

It hurts. The bite doesn’t help much and Lila sobs from the sharp pain inside her.

“I’m sorry, Lila we can stop if you want to.” Paul repeatedly kisses her tear-stained cheekbones. “Just tell me, I’ll listen,” another kiss.

Lila eventually calms down, finding comfort in Paul’s words and affectionate kisses. She places her hands behind his head and grips fistfuls of fiery hair. “Did you know it’s my birthday?”

Paul blinks and he nuzzles a kiss against her trembling lips, “Really? Well, Happy Birthday Miss Valeska.”

“Mmm… You’re adorable, you know that?” Lila slowly wraps her legs around Paul’s lower back. “You’re also the best birthday present a girl can ask for.” She grinds her heels into his ass, prepared for him to continue.

Her insistence doesn’t go unnoticed. Paul smiles and he shoves his arms underneath Lila’s body, lifting her just a bit. He holds her against his chest and kisses her. That’s when he withdrew his hips and pushed back in, slow at first. He pays attention to her voice, to the way her body writhes against his, and how she claws into his back – the pain burns, but it’s a good burn.

Lila loses herself in Paul’s body. The pace is slow at first, and she’s thankful for that. But it doesn’t take long for Paul to build up his rhythm until he’s wrecking her insides. Her muscles tense and stretch around his throbbing cock, and his persistent mouth can’t silence her moans. It feels so good, so, fucking, good. He hits her g-spot every time he thrusts and maybe because it’s her first time, the stimulation proves too much, too fast.

“Paul I-I think I’m coming!” No sooner did she get she get the warning out, Lila’s insides contract and spasm around Paul’s cock, like her own body wanted to squeeze and milk his cum.

Now, Paul had EVERY intention of pulling out, but he didn’t anticipate Lila’s abrupt orgasm. She clenched down on him and refused to let go of his shoulders and waist. He could’ve broken free, but shit… It was so fucking hot feeling her come all over his cock.

He lost all self-restraint then. Paul groans and he fucks her into the soft ground, his pace wild and unforgiving. Within a minute of Lila’s orgasm, Paul reaches his own. He breaths out heavily and his body tenses up. “Ohh, fuck!!!” His movements stutter, and he can feel his nut sac tightening up with those final few thrusts. He spills into her with a passionate moan. 

Lila feels Paul rest against her body and go lax. She’s sore but she can’t stop smiling. With their juices mixing together and their bodies connected as one, Lila couldn’t have been happier.

“You really are a gift,” Lila crooned. She strokes her fingers through his sweaty hair.

Paul lifts his head and plants a kiss against Lila’s cheekbone. “Likewise, toots,” he says breathlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we resume Jeremiah's interview with Harleen Quinzel. 
> 
> 'Burnt ginger' is my favorite phrase/description xD 
> 
> Btw, hope the age difference wasn't too off putting. From the Gotham T.V. series, I had the sense Paul Cicero was WAY older then Lila Valeska - dude was practically old enough to be Jerome's grandpa. ALSO, Paul has 2 sons that are redheads, and since Lila was a brunette, they had to have taken after their father - fight me on this, I still think Cicero was a dashing redhead at one point in his life lol


	4. Jeremiah Valeska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harleen finally achieves the impossible task of getting Jeremiah to communicate, but does it benefit either one of them?

“Can I go home now?”

Harleen’s head shot up faster than the speed of light. “Y-you can talk?!”   

“Yes…” Jeremiah’s eyes are impossibly wide and owlish behind his thick-framed glasses.

Breakthrough.

Thrilled, Harleen retrieves her tape recorder and sets it down on the table. She presses the record button, picks up her pen and clipboard, and gazes at the young male. “What prompted you to break your silence?”

“……..” Jeremiah casts a wary look at the tape recorder, giving a slight shrug. “I… I miss Jerome.”

“Jerome?” Incredulous, Harleen scribbles a note down.

“When do I get to see him?” Jeremiah asks.

Harleen chews on her bottom lip; she feels conflicted about answering his question. “Soon… But first, you have to answer some questions.”

“Is this about mother?” Jeremiah twists his fingers into his Arkham-issued shirt. Because of his age and docile nature, he doesn’t have to wear any type of restraints during sessions. “She didn’t do anything to us.”

“Your mother? Lila Valeska?”

Jeremiah nods.

“Is there any particular reason why you’re bringing her up?”

“………” Nose crinkling, Jeremiah glances around the bare room. “I’m at the hospital and you’re a doctor. You want to know if mother hurts us, but she doesn’t. Jerome likes to roughhouse, and sometimes, we have accidents on our bikes.”

For some reason, Jeremiah’s words sound familiar. Harleen sets the clipboard down and shuffles through papers in one of the folders surrendered by child protective services. She finds one that details an interview with Jeremiah Valeska when he was 6-years-old; word for word, Jeremiah said the same thing when questioned about a broken arm.

“Is Jerome okay?”

Blue eyes peer over the folder and Harleen nods, “Yes… he’s fine.”

“Can I see him? Please?” Jeremiah leans forward in his seat, eyes pleading.

“I…I’ll see what I can do.” Harleen closes the folder, “Jeremiah you’re right, I am a doctor but I’m not THAT type of doctor. I’m a psychologist.”

“Psychologist?” Jeremiah repeats the word, frowning a little. “What’s that?”

“A person who specializes in the study of the mind and behavior. I also diagnose and aid in the treatment of mental, emotional, and behavioral disorders.”

The words sink in slowly and Jeremiah rolls his eyes. “Nothing is wrong with my head.”

“Tell me, what’s today’s date?”

“June 4th, 2001.”

“Wrong.” Harleen shakes her head, “It’s August 25th, 2001. You’re not at a hospital, you’re a patient at Arkham Asylum.”

“Hah!” The redhead snorts out a laugh, “I’m starting to think something is wrong with YOUR head.”

Harleen stares patiently at the boy, considering his words and calculating her next question. “Okay… If today is June 4th, what are your plans?”

Jeremiah shifts uncomfortably in his chair and he averts his eyes, staring at the floor instead. “It’s mother’s birthday… We’re all supposed to go out and eat…”

“We?”

“Mother, Jerome, and Corey.”

“Who’s Corey?”

“He…he’s mother’s boyfriend but he’s not my stepdad!” Jeremiah’s posture goes rigid and he scowls at the floor.

The name rings a bell. Harleen goes through another folder and immediately spots Corey’s name, including an unsightly mug shot – this guy is a violent sexual predator. WHO on earth would invite an awful creature like him into a home where small children reside?

That could explain some things…

The silence prompts Jeremiah to look at the newspaper article and he reads over the first paragraph. “Fake.”

“I beg your pardon?” Harleen looks up.

“That, this-” Jeremiah motions to the Gotham Gazette, “It’s fake.”

“I can assure you it’s not.” Harleen picks the article up and opens it. “Do you remember anything else about this day? What time did you wake up? What did you have for breakfast? Did Lila say anything that might have upset you?”

“I-” Jeremiah stops. He stares at the empty air, trying to claw memories out of his mind but there isn’t anything there.

What time did he and Jerome wake up?

Did they eat anything? Sometimes there wasn’t any food inside the house.

Because it’s mother’s birthday, Jeremiah knows she’ll be drunk or hungover so she’ll sleep all day.

The long pause is noted and Harleen interrupts with a question: “Did Corey say or do anything to you that day?”

“ _That day_ …. Why do you keep saying it like that? You mean today? Today IS June 4th” Jeremiah insists.

“No, today is August 25th. You’ve been in my care for 3 months and _today_ is the first time you’ve spoken.”

“Liar.” Jeremiah scrunches up his face and glares. “Where’s my brother? You know, my mother is going to be really upset with you for keeping us here.”

“Your mother is dead.”

Jeremiah stops breathing.

Harleen is perplexed. Not only was Jeremiah suffering memory loss, but his perception of reality and time was heavily distorted. Was it possible that the nature of his crime was far too explicit and his mind blacked it out? Or, was it his traumatic upbringing that affected his grasp on reality? A most intriguing case and a challenging one at that.

The boy’s small chest heaves in a deep breath and he exhales impatiently. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at lady, but none of this is funny.

“I’m not very good at games, never have been; I don’t have a competitive streak at all.” Harleen presses the Gotham Gazette open and reads it aloud. “Further investigation shows that the woman, who has been identified as Lila Valeska, of Saint Petersburg, Russia, was bludgeoned to death and mutilated afterwards.”

“Stop it…”

Harleen continues. “An autopsy reveals wounds and mutilation were done postmortem. Breasts, genitalia, and eyes are missing. Medical examiner, Leslie Thompkins, suggests the corpse was in the apartment building for several days, based on the decomposition.”

“Please, stop it. I don’t want to hear any more-” Jeremiah trembles in his seat.

As upset as Jeremiah was, Harleen pushes on. “Miss Thompkins details the violation and abuse on the corpse as a monstrous atrocity – the worst thing she’s ever seen. Jim Gordon arrests potential suspect, 39-year-old Corey Wilson, who is presumed to be Lila Valeska’s significant-”  

 “I SAID SHUT UP!!!!” In the blink of an eye, Jeremiah bolts out of his seat and he chucks the heavy chair at the psychologist.

Harleen looks up and screams. “AHHH!!!” She barely dives out of the way and avoids the flying object.

“LIES! LIES! LIES! IT’S ALL LIES!!!” Jeremiah slaps his hands over his ears and shakes his head desperately. By now his eyes are dripping tears and the distraught redhead sobs for his brother, “Jay!”  

On the other side of a two-way mirror, Professor Hugo Strange is observing the interaction between Dr. Harleen Quinzel and her young ward. The outburst requires him to send in a couple of orderlies to subdue Jeremiah Valeska.

The metal door beeps and two men in navy blue scrubs enter the room.

With her heart in her throat, Harleen climbs to her feet and waves the orderlies down. “Stop it! I have everything under control!”

“Oh, but I don’t think you do Miss Quinzel,” says Hugo.

Jeremiah screeches when the orderlies grab him by his arms and pin him to the wall. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” He turns his head and tries to bite at them.

The action earns a hard smack to the face, to which Jeremiah screams even louder – his voice is wild and high, like a panicked animal caught in a trap.

Harleen rushes to his defense. “Don’t you DARE hit him!” She threw backhanded strike against the man who hit Jeremiah.

“Ouch, fuck!” The orderly shot a death glare at the psychologist.

“Now, now, children… Behave.” Hugo strides across the room, syringe in hand. “Mr. Valeska… Please calm down, or I’ll be forced to sedate you.”

The redhead snarls at Hugo, refusing to give up. He struggles against the orderlies’ grip and tries to kick Hugo in his shins.

The professor backs up, staying clear of range. “Tsk, tsk.” He tuts and moves to the right side, only to plunge the needle into Jeremiah’s neck.

“Ah!” Jeremiah gasps at the sharp prick of pain.

Hugo applies pressure and drains the medication into Jeremiah’s neck, and then he pulls the syringe out.

Jeremiah’s eyelids flutter and his body instantaneously goes limp.

The orderlies keep a firm grip on the kid’s shoulders while his head lulls forward.

Harleen is visibly disappointed. “We agreed no sedatives, you could kill him.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic Miss Quinzel.” Hugo motions to the open door with a head tilt, “Escort Mr. Valeska back to his room.”

Harleen huffs out an irritated breath.

“AND, please be careful and gentle with him,” Hugo adds.

The orderlies grunt in response and they half-drag, and half-carry the unconscious minor.

“Congratulations.”

“What?” Harleen looks at Hugo, eyebrows furrowing quizzically.

“Getting him to speak wasn’t nearly as important as making him acknowledge the truth. The process will be arduous, but I have the utmost confidence in your abilities Miss Quinzel.” Hugo smiles.

The flattering words fall on deaf ears; she’s still worried about Jeremiah’s fragile state of mind.

Realizing she wasn’t listening, Hugo cleared his throat with a cough: “Ahem, discard this for me, will you?” He holds out the empty syringe.

Harleen takes it without protest and nods. “Sure…”

Upon exiting the room, Hugo pauses by the door. “One more thing…”

Sighing, Harleen looks over to her supervisor. “Yes?”

Not bothering to look up, Hugo speaks: “I don’t mean to undermine your approach but perhaps it’ll be best for you to treat Mr. Valeska as he really is – a murderer.”

Harleen opens her mouth but Hugo leaves before she can say anything.


	5. Paul And Lila’s Absolutely TRUE Love Story (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruthlessness Towards Members Of The Same Species Is Not Only Unethical and Unaesthetic, It is Perverse, Against Nature.
> 
> Flashback time.

Paul Cicero kept his mouth shut and didn’t reveal Lila’s TRUE intentions when he tows her father’s car home. It’s late in the afternoon by the time he arrives and unfortunately, he didn’t get to say goodbye to Lila – who was grounded and locked away in the bedroom.

A couple of months go by and Paul can’t seem to get Lila Valeska off his mind – she was a dynamite gal, and more beautiful then Aphrodite herself. He often debates on going over to visit and asking her out on a proper date, however, he doesn’t want to get her in trouble. That’s assuming she was even around; he figures she already skipped town and was traveling across the states. She could be an actress, a super model, whatever she wants, she’s got the full package.  

It’s close to 8:30pm when Paul finishes with evening chores. He smells something awful, a combination of sweat, hay, and cow manure. Desperate for a shower, the sunburnt ginger enters through the back door and strolls through the kitchen.

“Paul is that you?” says Lorraine.

“Yeah mom, it’s me. Gonna head upstairs and shower off.” He makes his way to the stairs.

“Just a second son, get your ass in here,” Ed says.

Recognizing his father’s curt tone, Paul immediately turns away from the stairs and wanders into the living room. Emerald eyes land on the 3 visitors, who are all seated on the long, floral-printed sofa.

The redhead freezes up, eyes widening in shock. “Lila?”

“Hello, Paul.” Lila smiles timidly.

Rumiana Valeska, the spitting image of her daughter, scrutinizes Paul with glowering disdain. “Red hair…” She sighs and shakes her head disappointingly.

Jakoby Valeska is less forgiving. He narrows his dark brown eyes on the other man – the very same one that returned his vehicle and went along with his daughter’s bullshit story. God, why couldn’t Lila be a man? Or at LEAST show the same level of maturity as her older brother Zachary. At least Zachary kept it in his pants and went off to college.

“Paul, it’s rude to stare.”

“Oh, right, sorry mom.” Paul approaches Lila’s father and extends his right hand. “It’s good to see you again Mr. Valeska.”

“Hmph. Wish I could say the same.” Jakoby ignores the hand.

“Sir?” Paul is definitely confused. He lowers his hand and nods to Lila’s mother, “Ma’am.”

Rumiana purses her lips together in a tight frown.

“Have a seat son,” Ed motions to the empty recliner.

Paul does as he’s told and takes a seat in the vacant recliner.

There’s an air of tension around everyone, including Paul. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and the lingering silence makes his anxiety worse.

Finally, Jakoby clears his throat and addresses the fidgeting redhead. “Lila is pregnant.”

“Oh?” Paul blinks, “Congratulations.

Swing and a miss – the revelation doesn’t register.

Ed rolls his eyes and he slams his booted heel into Paul’s leg. “With YOUR child numb nuts.”

Paul jumps and he glares at his father.

Wait…

Realization sinks in and Paul whips his attention back to Lila. His mouth gapes open and his eyes widen like saucers. “M-MY CHILD!?”

“Y-yes….” Lila hunches her shoulders and tries to shrink against the couch. She expects equal disappointment and anger, the same kind everyone else was showing her.

“WHOOOOWEEEEEEE!!!!” Paul throws his fists in the air and jumps; he’s tall enough that his knuckles bounce off the ceiling. “I’M GONNA BE A DADDY!!!!!!”

Baffled, all the parents stare and watch Paul’s reaction.

Lila is too stunned to say anything.

In a hurried flash, Paul is down on one knee, positioned directly in front of Lila. He reaches out, takes her hands, and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “Lila Valeska, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

No hesitation whatsoever, Lila shouts, “YES! Oh my God, yes Paul!” She throws her arms around the man’s neck and kisses him.

Paul cries tears of joy and he loops his arms around Lila’s waist, lifting her up from the couch. He swings her around, the two of them giddy and excited. They share an avid kiss, clinging to one another tightly.

Lorraine’s eyes swell up with tears, “Aww…. My baby boy.”

Although the circumstances are not ideal, Ed finds himself smiling at the idea of a grandchild.

Jakoby and Rumiana are less enthusiastic, although, Paul’s response to the news was preferable. They were going to push for a fast wedding anyway, so the town wouldn’t find out about Lila’s pregnancy. There was nothing more shameful then a child born out of wedlock, to which the Cicero’s couldn’t agree more.

 

* * *

 

Paul’s mother and father pitch in for the wedding, and Lila’s parents take care of the festivities – mostly involved drinking games, and gambling. It was a Russian-Italian themed wedding, and the parents made sure their children took part in EVERY custom and tradition, no matter how outrageous it seemed. Although the Cicero family griped about it, Lila wanted to keep her surname ‘Valeska’ and Paul allows it, having no qualms about her decision.

Shortly after the wedding, the newlywed couple decides to purchase a two-bedroom house in Gotham City, at a neighborhood that is relatively nice and quiet.

Change comes easily for the new lovebirds – Lila was eager to get away from her parents and Paul wanted to try a new career. He lands a mechanic job at a prestigious car dealership and travels back home on weekends to assist his father with the farm. Lila, on the other hand, picks up a waitress job at a local restaurant down the road. She works all the way up to her 3rd trimester, saving and budgeting for the baby. At her mother’s insistence, Lila resigns from the diner and prepares the nursery at home; she finds joy in interior decorating.   

Yes, things are perfect, well,  _almost_  perfect.

Aches and pains, swollen feet, and a growing belly… Pregnancy was UGLY. There was that, and the hormonal mood swings. One minute she’s excited and happy about being a mother, the next, a bawling mess of tears and snot. Lila shares her doubts and fears with her husband, and Paul does his best to comfort the soon-to-be-mom. He caters to her every need and offers ample physical and emotional support.

Sprawled out on her back with a layer of pillows between her and the mattress, Lila is currently enjoying a foot rub from her husband. Paul is sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed and he vigorously works his thumbs across the soft padding on his wife’s foot. “How does that feel sweetheart?”

“Soooo good~” Lila hums in content, “Could you use a little more lotion?”

“Of course,” Paul nods. He grabs a purple bottle from the floor and empties lavender scented lotion onto his right palm. Capping the bottle, Paul resumes the foot massage. He gazes at his wife’s enormous belly and a fond smile curves his lips. She’s pushing 8 months and just to think, he was going to meet his son or daughter in 1 month. The thought fills him with excitement, and he chuckles. “Heh, you never said if you wanted a boy or a girl, c’mon which is it?”

“Mmm, it doesn’t matter to me as long as the baby is healthy.” Lila closes her eyes and smiles up at the ceiling. “Will you have enough room in your heart to love both of us?”

The redhead pauses and he shifts Lila’s foot off his lap. He uncrosses his legs, crawls across the bed, and stretches out beside his wife. He rolls onto his right side, scoots closer, and slides an arm around her protruding belly. “I’ll have more then enough room in my heart to love you, and our baby, for the rest of my life.” He noses into her soft, raven hair, pressing a kiss against her head. “For better or for worse, I’m forever yours, Lila Rumiana Valeska~”

“Oh, Paul~” Lila turns her head and kisses her beloved husband.

Paul accepts the kiss, a pleased rumble in his chest.

Something jabs Paul’s arm from within Lila’s stomach, startling the man and causing him to withdraw and look down.

Lila giggles at the reaction, “Uh oh. Someone isn’t too keen on sharing their mother.”

“Tough guy huh?” Paul grins and playfully taps his wife’s belly.

There’s another swift kick (or a punch) at Paul’s hand.

“Fine, fine, sheesh …” Paul pretends to pout at his defeat, and he snuggles up beside Lila, resting his head over her shoulder. He stroked her stomach, an expression of pure bliss on his face. “We got ourselves a real fighter, just like his mother.”

Soft laughter pushes past Lila’s lips and she presses a kiss against her husband’s forehead. “A fighter like me, but a provider like you. Our baby, son or daughter, will be the absolute best of us both.”

“Mhmm, ya can say that again toots~” Paul closes his eyes and he’s the first to fall asleep, Lila soon after.

 

* * *

 

Lila Valeska’s agonizing, earsplitting screams flood the hospital corridors.

Paul Cicero jumps from his seat and he starts pacing the waiting room.

Witnesses in the adjacent seats cautiously move to another row.

“Calm down son,” Ed urges.

“HOW CAN I CALM DOWN WHEN MY WIFE IS IN PAIN?!” Paul shouts.

“Listen to your father kid, yer causing a whole lotta racket over nothing,” Jakoby grumbles. The Russian retrieves a pack of Marlboro Reds and proceeds to light one.

“Uh, excuse me Sir-” says a concerned woman, “You can’t smoke inside a hospital.”

“Really?” Jakoby feigns surprise. He takes a puff on his cigarette and expels a trail of smoke, “Ya gonna do somethin’ about it?”

The woman purses her lips and looks around for staff members.

There’s nobody around, except an elderly lady behind the check-in desk.

Everybody else averts their gaze and Jakoby smirks, earning an ugly scowl from the woman.

Rumiana and Lorraine talk quietly amongst themselves, each debating on potential names for their grandchild, depending on the gender; they’re not bothered by Paul’s outburst.

Paul walks up to his father-in-law and swipes the cigarette out of his hand. He brings it to his lips and inhales a deep drag, the chemical smog burning his lungs. He coughed several times, while Jakoby snatches his cigarette back.

Ed doesn’t care for cigarettes or anything of the like. He opens his mouth to insist the man put it out, “Jakoby-”

“Cicero?”

A nurse in pale blue scrubs enters the waiting area. “Paul Cicero?”

“Yeah?” Paul approaches her, worry lines stretching across his brow. “Is something wrong? How is she? Is the baby okay?”

Raising her hands to calm the redhead down, the nurse offers a warm smile “Everyone is fine Mr. Cicero. Would you like to see them?”

“Yes,” Paul nods eagerly.

Lorraine and Rumiana urge Paul to go on ahead first.

Ed and Jakoby agree with their wives.

Inhaling a nervous breath, Paul shuffles after the nurse and they walk down a hallway, entering the maternity ward. It’s white and pristine, with pink and blue accents on the walls. The painted butterflies and teddy bears do little to calm Paul’s frazzled nerves and he tries to focus on anything else but his racing heart; shit, he can hear blood rushing through his ears.

The nurse pauses outside a door marked 37 and below the number is a paper insert that reads ‘Lila Valeska’.  She taps her knuckles against the door.

“Come in.”

Paul recognizes his wife’s exhausted voice and before the nurse can let him in, he shoves past her and opens the door. He rushes into the room and notices 2 more nurses and a male doctor crowding around a bed.

The doctor looks up and clicks his tongue in acknowledgement. “Ah, you must be Paul.” He moves around the nurses and extends his hand, “Dr. Sorensen, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Where’s Dr. Lien?” Paul asks, taking the hand and shaking it twice; he was certain his wife’s doctor was a woman.

“I’m afraid a family emergency has called her away.” Dr. Sorensen withdraws his hand and flashes a warm smile, “You are going to have your hands full.”

“Huh?” Paul blinks.

“Ladies, I think it’s time we leave and allow the parents to get acquainted with their little bundle of joy.” Still smiling, Dr. Sorensen excuses himself and leaves the patient room.

The giggling nurses do the same and they congratulate Paul on their way out, closing the door behind themselves.

“Paul?”

Paul walks over to the bed and the first thing he notices is his wife’s worn smile. Her face is coated in sweat and her raven hair is a wild mess; some strands are plastered to her glistening skin. She’s panting lightly, like she'd been running a marathon and despite the grueling labor, her brown eyes are glowing. There’s a spark in those honey orbs of hers and they light up as Paul draws near, making his heart flutter underneath his chest.

It was then Paul notices something tucked underneath Lila’s left arm AND her right arm.

Babies.

2 babies bundled up in blankets with blue knitted caps over their heads; they appear to be sleeping.

“Boys, this silly man right here is your father~” Lila croons softly.  

“Haha,” Paul says, and faints.

 

* * *

 

Rumiana wants to name one of the twins after her late brother, Jerome Alexander Valeska.

Lorraine also wants to name one of the boys after her father-in-law, Jeremiah Kain Cicero – currently among the living.

Paul and Lila happily accept the names without complaint and, Paul ultimately decided to have his sons take their mother’s last name. See, when people think of ‘Cicero’, they think of poor farmers but when people hear the name ‘Valeska’, they think of brawlers. Paul wants his sons’ names to elicit fear and respect, not sympathy and pity.

Ed and Lorraine don’t dispute the name choices, they’re both satisfied to have a grandchild named after an important family member.

After a few days Lila Valeska and her twin boys are discharged from the hospital.

Paul had already gone out and purchased a 2nd crib, and he doubled up on pampers, wipes, formula, and clothing.

For the first 2 weeks, Paul takes leave from work to help his wife settle in at home. They take turns tending to the boys and their erratic sleep schedule – sometimes, only one of them falls asleep while the other stays awake. It’s a team effort when it comes to twins and Paul and Lila adapt quickly and easily.

Carter, Paul’s boss at the dealership, eventually starts calling the house and inquiring when Paul will return. Having exhausted all his sick and annual leave, Paul is forced to return to work.

Lila Valeska doesn’t mind, she knows it’s best that one of them stay home while the other works. She loves taking care of her sons and easily adapts to their needs and habits. Jeremiah always wants a bottle or pacifier, and he prefers to be rocked to sleep; Lila is thankful for the wooden rocking chair Ed and Lorraine gifted her at the baby shower. Jerome, on the other hand, favors falling asleep to singing or music and he doesn’t take to the pacifier like his brother.

If anything, Jerome is the active one and more curious about his surroundings. He’s constantly looking around at lights and sounds and grabbing for anything close in reach – sometimes he makes his brother cry when he pulls on his hair or his ears.

Jeremiah is quiet, so long as someone is holding him. He eats more and cries more, mostly because Jerome wrenches his ears and hair. Other times, Jeremiah fusses due to the lack of his mother’s warmth – some might say he’s spoiled, but he desires comfort.

During the following weeks since his return to work, Paul began to notice the changes at home and in his wife.

 

* * *

 

Before the birth of her sons, Lila Valeska kept their home immaculate and tidy. After the birth of her sons, she still maintained cleanliness but sometimes she was too exhausted to do chores. In which case, Paul picked up the slack and he cooks, washes and folds laundry, and scrubs the dishes. He also cleans up their bedrooms, feeds and bathes their sons, and stays up with them at night so his wife can sleep.

It’s easy enough and Paul doesn’t mind helping. He absolutely ADORES his sons, especially their growing red hair and bright, green eyes – turns out the Cicero genes are strong, they’re like little carbon copies of Paul. They have their mother’s facial features, however, like her chin, mouth shape, and cute button nose. Those could change later as they grow older, but the crimson hair and green eyes are a result of their Cicero lineage.

 

* * *

 

One day, while he’s at work, Paul receives a phone call from his frantic wife.

“I CAN’T HANDLE THEM PAUL! PLEASE COME HOME!” Lila shrieked over the phone.

Paul winces and he holds the receiver a couple of inches away from his ear. “Lila, sweetheart, calm down-”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” Lila snaps, “THEY’VE BEEN CRYING ALL DAY! I CAN’T GET THEM TO EAT OR SLEEP! IT’S DRIVING ME CRAZY PAUL!”

“Alright! Alright! I’m leaving right now. Just hang in there for a couple minutes, okay?”

Lila sobs, “Okay.”

Paul explains the situation to Carter, and he allows his employee to race home and check on his wife.

Upon arrival, Paul can hear Jerome and Jeremiah’s shrill crying from within the house. He unlocks the front door and enters the kitchen first, having to walk through it, down the hall, and into the living room. He sees his wife sitting on the couch, hunched over and bawling into her hands. “Lila!”

“P-Paul?” Lila looks up, her face is a mess of tears, mascara, and lipstick.

“Lila-” He rushes over to his wife’s side and kneels in front of her. He cups her face and tries to wipe her tears away with his thumbs.

Jerome and Jeremiah cry louder, almost as if they sense the presence of their father.

Lila grabs her husband and hugs him, burying her face against his neck. “Make them stop Paul! Please, make them s-stop crying!”

“Shhh, everything’s gonna be okay. I got you covered toots, go and rest now,” he says, while caressing her hair and rubbing her back.

Sniffling and nodding, Lila lets go of Paul and manages to plant a brief kiss against his lips. Then she stands, moves around her husband, and sulks away to her bedroom.

Paul watches her leave and after he hears the bedroom door close, he enters the 2nd bedroom of the house. Right away he picks up on the scent of urine and feces, prompting him to hurry up over his sons’ cribs.

To his horror, Jerome and Jeremiah’s diapers are OVERFLOWING. They’re so packed with urine and poop that they’re practically soaking in their own filth.

The babies are only 2 months old, unable to move or call for help, except for the shrill crying that hurts Paul’s heart.

“I-I’m here boys, daddy’s here.” Swallowing heartache and disgust, Paul hastily gets a bath going and he strips the twins of their onesies and soiled diapers. He washes them tiny bodies off, shampoos their hair, and gets them into clean clothing and dry diapers. He uses baby blankets to wrap them up and prop bottles into their mouths, to which the twins hungrily scarf down, practically inhaling their liquid meals. Paul mentally takes note of that and he strips the cribs of their dirty linens, throwing everything in the washer afterwards. He uses a heavy dosage of bleach and Tide soap to get the smell and stains off. He disinfects the cribs and thoroughly wipes them down, followed by opening the window to air out the bedroom.

By the time he’s done, the twins are crying again for a 2nd bottle.

Washing his hands several times, Paul prepares 2 more bottles and vigorously shakes the formula to help it dissolve. He sits down on the couch and cradles both sons on his lap, a soft pillow underneath them – they’re tiny enough to fit comfortably on a single pillow. He holds their bottles for them, humming softly and rocking Jerome and Jeremiah by swinging his legs back and forth.

The twins are calm and content. The finish half of their bottles and gradually fall asleep; crying for hours on end exhausted their fragile bodies.

Paul sets the bottles down and he slips his arms underneath the pillow. He brings his sons close to his chest and cradles them, while attempting to blink back tears. The house phone rang but Paul ignores it, it was probably Carter wanting to know when Paul was coming back in. He couldn’t go back to work that day, not after he found his boys in squalor conditions.

Lila gradually stirs from her sleep and she steps out of the bedroom around 7:00pm. She’d come to find Paul lying down on the living room floor, entertaining Jerome and Jeremiah with cartoons and toys. Instead of feeling relief, Lila feels …. Nothing. She’s rested, but it does little to improve her mood. She stops by the end of the couch and stares at her husband and sons.

Creaking floorboards make Paul look over his shoulder and he tries to smile – but it’s forced. “Hey there sleeping beauty… You feeling alright now?”

Lila unblinkingly shrugs and turns away. She saunters off into the kitchen and retrieves a beer.

The silence perturbs Paul and he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “When was the last time you fed and changed em’?”

Lila cracks the beer open and moves back into the living room. She takes a sip and looks at her husband, a blank expression on her face. “I changed them before you got here. As for feeding… I couldn’t get them to eat, they wouldn’t take their bottles. I said this over the phone, don’t you remember?”

“Oh…yeah, I remember…” Paul chews on his bottom lip.

“What? You got something to say?”

Paul shakes his head.

“Good. I’m going back to sleep.” Lila walks across the living room floor and makes her way to the bedroom; not once does she look down at her sons.

 

* * *

 

Shaken by Lila’s inattentiveness to their sons, Paul utilizes every single break, including lunch, to race home and check on his wife and kids. He does this every single day, for an entire month, and it begins to irritate the woman.

Curled up on the couch with a beer and cigarette in hand, Lila looks over to the kitchen when her husband appears. She shot him a glare and exhaled a trail of smoke, “Again?”

Paul nods and he brushes past Lila to go into the twins’ bedroom. He opens the door and peeks inside.

Jerome and Jeremiah are fast asleep in their cribs. Their socks and onesies are clean, their pampers don’t look packed, and Jeremiah has his pacifier in his mouth whereas Jerome grips a fleece blanket in his hand.

“See? What did I tell you?” Lila stares at the television screen, “They’re fine. You don’t have to act like a paranoid freak, I know how to take care of my kids.”

Paul ignores the remark and he closes the door with a soft click. He turns, moves to the front of the couch, and stares down at his wife. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t smoke inside the house.”

“Pfft!” Lila scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I didn’t agree to shit.”

“Lila…” Emerald eyes glance at the empty beer cans on the floor, including an ash tray that’s stuffed with cigarette butts. “Smoke is bad for their lungs. Yer gonna make em’ sick-”

In one, swift, motion, Lila is on her feet and she chucked the ash tray at her husband.

Paul barely ducked out of the way when the ash tray flew over his head and crashed into the living room wall, cigarette butts and ash exploded everywhere.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Paul shouts angrily.

Lila is crying hysterically, “You think I’m a bad mother!”

“No, I didn’t say that-” Paul feels guilty and he reaches out for his wife.

“Get away from me,” Lila says, her voice quivering. She shoves the lit cigarette into her can of beer and she rushes into her bedroom, slamming it shut and locking it behind herself.

Once again, Paul can’t return to work. He calls in sick and tends to his sons, while Lila locks herself away in the bedroom for the next 24 hours.

 

* * *

 

Jerome and Jeremiah are 7 months old and it’s Jerome who learns to crawl first.

It’s a joyous occasion, one that Paul celebrates by taking his family out to eat.

Lila is in a sour mood the entire time and she complains about the restaurant Paul takes them to. “It stinks in here… You know I hate seafood, why do you always think about yourself?”

Paul finishes buckling his sons into their highchairs and he looks over to his wife, “I thought you liked seafood? You mentioned lobster and steak last week.”

“I was talking about the stupid commercials on T.V. dumbass. You never listen to me,” Lila shakes her head disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Paul tries to put on an encouraging smile.

“Whatever.” She skims over the drink menu.

 

* * *

 

“Paul?” Carter nudges his shoe against the mechanic’s leg.

Paul is underneath a 1955 Ford Thunderbird, a restoration project that he’d taken on as a favor to his boss; he knew more about classic vehicles than any other mechanic in the shop. When he felt the touch against his leg, Paul gripped the bottom of the vehicle and pulled himself out. He sits up on a blue rolling creeper board and eyes his boss curiously. “Yeah?”

“Your mother called…. It’s, um…. About your kids… They’re at Gotham Central Hospital.”

 

* * *

 

Lorraine is trying her best to comfort Lila, who’s weeping on the hospital floor and wailing miserably.

Paul rushes down the hallway, shoving people aside as he nears his family. He thinks the worst has happened and he’s on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. He barely skids to a halt in front of his mother and Lila and blurts out, “WHAT HAPPENED?!!!”

Recognizing her husband’s voice, Lila looks up and she climbs to her feet. “Paul!” She threw herself into his arms and latched onto him, clinging for dear life. She whispers a string of ‘I’m sorrys’ and cries against his shoulder.

It feels like somebody threw a couple cinder blocks on his chest and his mouth is sandpaper dry, “Are they… dead?” his voice cracks.

“On the contrary, they’re very much alive” said a female voice.

Lorraine, Paul, and Lila turn their attention on an African American doctor, decked out in a white lab coat, navy blue turtleneck, and brown dress slacks; her hair is pulled back in a tight French bun. From behind her glasses, she scrutinizes Paul and Lila, looking like a hawk sizing up it’s prey. “Follow me to my office Mr. Cicero.”

“W-wait, I can’t see them?” Paul’s heart dies a little.

“Afterwards.” The doctor addresses Lila, “Mrs. Valeska I’m going to have to ask you to stay as you’ve already been questioned. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes…” Lila retracts her fingers from Paul’s shirt, visibly shaking from anxiety and stress.

Paul cups his wife’s face and plants a soft kiss on her forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

Sniffling, Lila nods.

Lorraine steps forward and places her hands on her daughter-in-law’s shoulders. “We’ll be here son. I’m sorry your father couldn’t make it. You know how he is when it comes to his work.”

“It’s okay mom.” Paul nods in understanding and he gave his wife’s shoulder a squeeze. He turns and follows the doctor, who happened to be waiting at the end of the hallway.

 

* * *

 

“Your wife is on antidepressants, correct?”

“Yes ma’am, has been for the past year.”

“Please, call me Dr. Whitaker, that ma’am stuff makes me feel old.” She retrieves 3 folders from her desk and opens one of them. “Lila Rumiana Valeska… age 18, quite a young wife you have.”

“U-uh, yeah, b-but it’s not what you think! We’re not in an arranged marriage or anything like that. We um, got together just the one time a-and I tried to do the noble thing-”

“Mr. Cicero calm down, I’m not chastising your marriage or the obvious age gap. What you have to realize is that a woman’s body doesn’t mature until she reaches her early 20’s. Your wife, due to her young age, is susceptible to postpartum depression. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes ma-, Dr. Whitaker, I am.” Paul reiterates what Dr. Lien told them, regarding postpartum depression, it’s symptoms and available treatment options.

“Alright, you seem to have a good understanding, but I doubt your wife does.”

“Whaddya mean by that?”

Dr. Whitaker sighs and reaches into another cabinet under her desk. She pulls out a blue folder and a sealed bag with a red label reading ‘Evidence Seal’. “I have the police report right here, including the medication your sons nearly overdosed on.”

“Overdosed?!” The redhead is appalled, and he gazes at the evidence bag, concentrating on the object that’s sealed inside.

It’s a familiar brown pill bottle.

“Your 16-month-old sons managed to get their hands on your wife’s medication. They swallowed 4 or 5 antidepressants before succumbing to convulsions. Lila found them on the bathroom floor, and she immediately called 9-1-1. Police briefly questioned her before your mother arrived to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Because of the questionable circumstances, GCPD officers searched the bathroom and the rest of your home.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Paul mumbles. Jerome, Jeremiah, his sons, they could’ve died… What in the actual fuck happened? Was Lila watching them? What could’ve been more important then the safety of their children?! Frustration and rage seeped into his chest and it made his hands curl into fists. “Did… Did they have to go through surgery?” he strains.

“Yes, minor surgery. Jerome and Jeremiah had their stomachs pumped and they were given activated charcoal. Vitals are stable, and they’ll be monitored overnight. In the meantime, I have to report this to Child Protective Services.”

“Huh? What for?!” Paul’s anger dissipates.

“Negligence. Your wife is ill and, possibly unfit to care for your children.”

“Dr. Whitaker…” The redhead is spent and for the first time in his life he feels like an old, weary man. “I can assure you this was an accident. My wife didn’t mean to harm Jerome and Jeremiah. Maybe she was doing dishes or taking the trash outside? She’s a good mother who loves her boys very much, her whole world revolves around them.”

“I believe it, but your sons almost DIED Mr. Cicero. Do you understand the severity of the situation? What COULD have happened if your wife called 1 minute too late?”

“Yeah, yeah I get where yer coming from Doc.” Paul sighs and twists his hands together, clearly nervous and worried. “Look I know you got a job to do, and I ain’t asking you for special favors…” He inhales a deep breath and continues, “Besides the accidental-almost-overdose, did you see any other injuries? Bruises? Scars?”

Dr. Whitaker studies the redhead, her expression indecipherable. She weighs in on his words and considers hers carefully. “I didn’t come across any red flags… Their x-rays look good, they’re BMI is appropriate, and they have decent hygiene.”

“I thought so…” Paul nods, “My wife has…. Issues, hell we all do. She’s been struggling and getting C.P.S. involved is just gonna stress her out even more. Have a heart Doc, Lila is doing the best she can, and it would mean a lot to me -to us, if you could overlook this.”  

“……….” Dr. Whitaker purses her lips together and she leans back in her chair, taking a mental dive and searching her inner conscious. She’s concerned about Lila Valeska’s mental health and from the sounds of it, so is her husband. The Valeska twins are healthy enough, in fact, they’re healthier than most kids of their age group.

Paul can tell the doctor is thinking about C.P.S. and he realizes he’ll have to reassure her that it won’t happen again. He coughs and clears his throat, “Ahem, I’ll have my mother stay with us from now on. You met her already, she’s the older lady out there with my wife. She can monitor Lila and remind her to take her meds. She can also help around the house, watch the boys, offer care when Lila is feeling out of sorts.” Paul sniffles and he reaches up to wipe away threatening tears. “I wanna take care of my family, and I-I been slacking… I’ll do better, I promise ya Doc, I’ll do better…”

Against her better judgement, Dr. Whitaker forgoes contacting Child Protective Services, on the grounds Paul’s mother, Lorraine, moves into the family home. The second stipulation is for Lila to start seeing a therapist in order to help her work through her underlying issues.

Paul agrees to it all.

After 24 hours the twins are discharged and the Cicero-Valeska family goes home.

 

* * *

 

“Haggard old bitch,” Lila hisses, tendrils of smoke leaking out of her stained teeth.

Lorraine ignores her intoxicated daughter-in-law and continues to play pattycake with Jerome. “Too fast! Slow down!”

Jerome giggles and he moves even faster, until his tiny hands are a flurry of movement.

Jeremiah is on the couch, seated on his grandmother’s right side. Utilizing his new glasses, the boy looks through a gossip magazine– he can’t read of course, but he likes the pictures.

Lila narrows her brown eyes and she deliberately flicks cigarette ash over Lorraine’s shoulder, on that pretty, floral dress of hers.

The ever-patient woman sighs and she lowers her hands, causing her grandson to pout. “Jerome, Jeremiah, go to your room.”

“Aww but granny-” Jerome starts.

“Please,” Lorraine holds up an index finger, “-and thank you.”

Jeremiah and Jerome exchange looks and they both retreat to their bedroom. They crawl onto a single twin-size bed and sprawl out on their stomachs. Jerome snuggles up beside his sibling and rests his head over Jeremiah’s shoulder, meanwhile Jeremiah points out his favorite celebrity snapshots. They know nothing about these people or their affluent lifestyles, but they make up stories and names, normalize them, make them relatable.

“2 years…. 2 years of my life I’ve given up, to help YOU take care of your sons.” Lorraine dusts the cigarette ash off her shoulder, appearing calm but like any impending storm, there’s always a brief period of tranquility.

“Nobody asked you,” Lila smirks.

“Paul did. Your husband, whom you show little to no respect.” Lorraine stands and she turns to face the vial woman who was killing her son, and she had the AUDACITY to call herself a loving wife. “You don’t deserve him.”

SMACK!

Lila backhands her mother-in-law across the face.

Eyes watering up and her face stinging, Lorraine curls her right fist before punching the whore in her face.

BAM!

Lila’s painful scream reverberates through the house, making the twins look up from the magazine.

Jeremiah crawls off the bed and goes to hide in the closet.

Jerome sits up on the bed and he waits a little while, straining to hear the insults Lila and Lorraine spewed at each other.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

“WASHED UP OLD CUNT!”

“FUCK YOU! YOU’RE A WORTHLESS SLUT!”

“SAY THAT AGAIN YOU MISERABLE WHORE!”

More screams. More insults. Furniture is being throw against the walls. Something breaks and shatters – the glass portraits, maybe. The two women scream and scuffle about the living room floor, slamming into the wall, the couch, and the bedroom doors.

Jerome jumps when they thrash into the door, just about knocking it off it’s hinges. That’s when he bolts over to the closet to join his brother.

Jeremiah trembles and he hugs his brother as soon as he sits down. “D-daddy is going to be home soon…. R-right?”

“Yeah, soon…” Jerome holds his brother close and tries to calm him down by stroking his back – like how their father does it.

The gesture brings a minuscule amount of comfort, but the screaming outside their bedroom brings forth a panic attack. His tiny fingers curl into Jerome’s shirt and he buries his face in Jerome’s chest, breathing much too fast.

“Shhh, it’s okay Miah. It’s okay… Daddy will make granny and mommy love each other again. Don’t cry, please don’t cry-” Jerome is pleading, and there’s a sense of urgency in his voice. He knows mommy doesn’t like crying, it hurts her ears, and turns her into an angry monster.

“J-Jay,” Jeremiah sobs quietly. He turns his head and muffles his voice against his brother’s shoulder, while the screaming, and cursing, and fighting intensifies.

 

* * *

 

Paul enters the driveway and parks his vehicle, casting a curious glance at the yellow taxicab pulled over by the curb.

His worst fear is realized when Lorraine marches out with two big suitcases in each hand.

“Mom?!” The man scrambles out of his ride and he rushes over to Lorraine, only to stop in front of her and block her from the taxi. “What’s wrong?”

Lorraine stops and scoffs, “What do you THINK is wrong?!” She drops her suitcases on the ground and turns, pointing an accusing finger at the brunette standing on the porch. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF HER! SHE’S CRUEL! LAZY! WORTHLESS! AND HORRIBLE!”

Disheveled and bruised, Lila snorts out a haughty laugh. “HAH! And yet your son married me. There’s nothing you can do about it, yer stuck with me…. MOTHER DEAR~”

“OH! WHY I NEVER!!!” Lorraine grabs her suitcases and she jabs her shoulder into Paul’s chest. “Get the hell out of my way Paul! I’m can’t do this anymore! I’m going home!”

“N-no, mom, wait-” Paul grips his mother’s shoulders and tries to keep her in place. That’s when he notices the bleeding lacerations on her face, and a busted lip. Her hair is a mess, and tufts of hair litter her dress, like somebody yanked out handfuls. Paul’s gaze travels down and he sees his mother’s bruised up knuckles, including the cuts and scrapes along her arms.

It was NEVER this bad before.

It used to be verbal arguments, a rude comment here and there..

Now they were BRAWLING it out?!

Paul could die right then and there. His poor mother… She looked miserable and aged. He saw anger and pain in her face and when she was about to cry, he threw his arms around her. He embraces his mother and presses a kiss against her gray hair, “Okay mom… You can go home. Thank you… Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Lorraine lets go of her suitcases and she hugs her son tightly. She weeps against his chest because she knows, deep down in her heart, that this is goodbye – she won’t return to this awful, godforsaken place. She won’t see her Lila ever again, and quite presumably, her son and grandsons. “Leave her, please Paul…. Take your sons and move back in with us,” Lorraine whispers.

Lila raises a liter of vodka to her lips and takes a shot, a bitter hiss following. “I hope yer not talking about me!” she sneers.

“Mom…” Paul glances at his wife and he meets his mother’s concerned gaze. “I can’t… I made a promise, for better or for worse…”

Defeated laughter quivers through Lorraine and she wipes tears away with her hands. “I know son, I know. Take care of yourself, give my love to Jerome and Jeremiah, okay?”

Before Paul can say anything, Lorraine kisses him on the cheek and drags her suitcases around him. He turns and watches her throw her luggage in the trunk. She then climbs in the back seat, slams the door shut, and gives the driver directions to her home outside of Gotham City.

While the taxicab pulls away from the curb, Lorraine refuses to look at her son.

 

* * *

 

 “FUCK YOU!” Lila shrieks and she chucks the bottle of pills at her husband’s face.

Paul flinches slightly when the bottle strikes his nose – it won’t bruise, but it sure as hell stings. He listens to the bottle bounce off the floor and roll away. He blinks and his shoulders slouch. A tired, frustrated groan pushes out of his mouth. “Lila, please…” He bends over and plucks the medication from the floor, “You have to take these. Your mood swings and outbursts are gettin’ worse…”

“Lila pleeaase~” Lila mocks, her eyes snapping. “Jesus Christ do you even hear yourself? You sound like a pussy. What happened Paul? Did yer balls drop off?” She puffs on her cigarette.

Emerald eyes watch the trail of smoke filtering out of Lila’s cherry-painted lips – red lipstick always looked good on her, it made her brown eyes stand out and it contrasts her raven locks. Paul has been struggling for over a month now to get his wife back on medication, but her stubbornness is an obstacle.

After Jerome and Jeremiah’s incident, the accidental-almost-overdose, Lila Valeska had been compliant with Dr. Whitaker’s requests. She took her pills diligently, never missed an appointment with her appointed therapist – Quinzel or something- and she was taking classes at the local university. She was getting along with Lorraine just fine, and the twins seemed happier and more relaxed around their mother.

WHAT changed?

After 8 months, Lila dropped out of college.

After a year, she started skipping her medication in favor of vodka and whiskey. She complained how the pills numbed her, both physical and emotionally. She didn’t like that… She wanted to FEEL something, even if that something turned her into an awful human being.

Soon enough Paul was receiving phone calls from Lorraine, and most of the time she was crying about something Lila said or did – she might have spanked Jerome too hard, or yelled at Jeremiah until he cried, all of which Lila denied. There were bruises and marks on his sons, but Paul chose to ignore it and he made excuses for his wife.

Paul continued to make excuses, and things only got worse.

Lorraine is gone, and Paul hasn’t spoken to either of his parents in a long time; Lila gets pissy whenever her husband mentions his parents.

Lila no longer talks to her mother and father. Jakoby Valeska is in prison for strangling a guy to death at bar, while Rumiana is running around with a young Russian boxer – nobody knows where she’s at these days.

Paul Cicero feels isolated and the verbal and mental abuse is wearing him down. He can handle the shoving, the painful backhands to his face, and his rough skin can take her punches but it’s her words that cut deep.

Co-workers and friends urge Paul to leave his toxic relationship, but his moral sense of duty as a husband and father won’t allow him to do so. He swallows his pride, stores his ego away, and accepts his life for what it is. His only source of joy is Jerome and Jeremiah, his precious sons, and he does his best to protect them from Lila’s wrath. Her illness is to blame, and Paul hopes, one day, she’ll overcome it and they can be a picture-perfect family again.

“Please…. Do it for me, do it for Miah and Jay, take your medication.” Paul extends his hand, the brown bottle dangling between thumb and index finger.

“It’s your fault I’m like this…” Lila snuffs the cigarette out on the wall, then she flicks the cigarette butt on the floor. “If I had just left the city like I planned… I wouldn’t be such a miserable bitch right now.”

“Sweetie, you’re sick, that’s why yer miserable.” Paul moves closer and he cups Lila’s face with his free hand. “We were happy once, remember? I wanna go back to that, I wanna see you smile and, God I miss your laugh.”

Lila looks into her husband’s eyes and her bottom lip trembles. “Are you saying I’m broken? I’m… I’m a nutcase that needs pills to function?”

“N-no! Of course not! Doll, what I meant was-”

Snatching the pill bottle from her husband, Lila turns and marches down the hall.

Paul blinks and he follows his wife.

Shoving the bathroom door open, Lila flicks the lights on and moves over to the toilet. She lifts the seat and opens the child-proof cap on the pill bottle.

“Lila-”

Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop!

Lila empties the contents into the toilet. “This is what I think of your so-called medication.”

Paul watches in silence.

 

* * *

 

Jerome and Jeremiah are in their bedroom, playing with toy trucks on the floor.

Moans and groans float through their closed door, but the only recognizable voice is their mother.

Jeremiah glances at the door, “Do you think… Daddy will be mad?”

“Huh?” Jerome looks up from a pretend automobile crash, “Why would daddy be mad?”

“Because…” Jeremiah shrugs and looks down, “Mommy has a friend over again.”

“Oh… I dunno,” Jerome resumes playing.

Then, the twins hear the front door open and their father calls out, “Boys? I’m home!”

The redheads look at each other in shock; their father was home early, and mother was still ‘busy’ with her friend.

Jeremiah starts to tremble.

Jerome moves over to his sibling and loops his arms around him, pulling him in for hug. “Don’t cry, okay?”

Jeremiah bites his bottom lip and nods.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Paul shouts.

There’s movement in Lila’s bedroom, somebody is running across the floor.

Lila screeches at her husband, “YOU HAVEN’T TOUCHED ME IN YEARS! WHAT DID YOU EXPECT WOULD HAPPEN?!”

The back door slams open and hurried footsteps race across the lawn.

“CHEATING?! CHEATING LILA?! I'VE NEVER SLEPT WITH ANOTHER WOMAN!!!”

“BULLSHIT! YOU’RE FUCKING THE RECEPTIONIST!”

“CHRIST LILA SHE’S A FUCKING KID! I WOULD NEVER DO THAT TO YOU!”

Something slams into the wall and breaks, its pieces shattering onto the floor.

Jerome and Jeremiah cringe, they have NEVER heard their father speak like that before.

Hurried footsteps move around in master bedroom and Lila is throwing out insults left and right.

“S-should we hide?” Jeremiah squeaks.

“No… they’re not fighting, I think we’re okay right here.” By fighting, Jerome was referring to a physical altercation. He didn’t hear his father’s painful groans, or the hard smack of Lila’s hands. They were verbally fighting; it was just an argument and it would pass soon.

All of a sudden the boys’ bedroom door opens.

Paul steps in and he kicks the door shut, right in Lila’s face.

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I’M CALLING THE COPS!” Lila hollered around.

Jerome and Jeremiah cling to each other and they look at their father, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

Paul is crying, a steady flow of tears cascades down both cheekbones. He kneels and shifts a black duffle bag off his shoulder. “C’mere boys, give your dad a hug.” He holds his arms out.

Confused, the twins let go of each other and they run into their father’s arms.

“I want you two to know…. None of this is your fault, okay?” Paul squeezes them against his chest, and he nuzzles kisses against their heads.

“W-what do you mean?” Jeremiah asks.

“I mean…” Paul chokes back a sob and he buries his face against Jeremiah’s shoulder. He cries, and trembles, unable to hold back his suffering.

“Daddy?” Jerome reaches over his father’s shoulder and rubs his upper back. “What’s wrong?”

“Jay… Miah… My sweet, sweet boys….” Paul exhales a shuddering breathe and he lifts his head to meet his sons’ bewildered expressions. “Daddy has to leave. I don’t know for how long… but Mommy will be here with you, she’ll take care of you both.”

“WHAT?!” Jerome and Jeremiah say at the same time.

“It won’t be for long, I promise. Daddy will find a nice little house out on grandpa and grandma’s farm, then you can come to visit. How’s that sound?” Paul forces a smile and he ruffles up his sons’ hair. “I love you both, so, so much.”

“D-daddy?” Jeremiah clings to his father’s shirt.

Jerome is confused and he takes a step back, staying out of reach.

Their reaction hurts Paul. Jerome and Jeremiah are too young and too innocent to understand that their parents’ marriage is over – it was over a long time ago.

“I’m sorry…” Paul mumbles and he pries Jeremiah off his shirt and pushes him back.

Jeremiah stumbles and he tries to grab at his father’s arm.

Paul quickly pulls away, grips his duffle bag, and rises to his feet. He took one more look at Jerome and Jeremiah, searing their faces in his memory. Guilt and pain ate away at him, forcing him to vacate the house.

Jeremiah and Jerome race after Paul, trying to keep up with his long strides across the living room floor.

Paul flees through the front door, Jerome close in tow.

Lila grabs Jeremiah by his arm and prevents him from following.

“JAY! DADDY!” Jeremiah yelps and squirms underneath his mother's death grip.

Paul blinks through his tears while climbing in the driver’s side of his vehicle. He closes the door, inserts the key, and fires up the engine.

“DADDY WAIT!” Jerome slams his hands on the driver’s side window. He’s crying by now and screaming at the top of his little lungs, “PLEASE DON’T LEAVE US! PLEASE DADDY! PLEEAASSEE!” He grips the door handle and attempts to pull.

“I’m sorry Jay,” Paul avoids looking at his son while shifting the car in reverse. Without warning the car jerks back and rolls out of the driveway.

Jerome tries to hang on but he looses his grip and slams onto the pavement. He pushes himself up on his hands and knees, “DON'T GO!" 

Switching gears, Paul drives away from the house.

The persistent redhead scrambles to his feet and sprints down the road. He calls for his father, over and over, begging and pleading for him to stay.

Paul steals a glance in the rear-view mirror.

Lila appears and she runs up to her son before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

Jerome screams and struggles against her grip.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Lila snaps. She’s forced to wrap her arms around Jerome’s waist and hoist him off his feet. She begins carrying him back to the house, while Jerome kicks and howls in protest.

“DADDY!”

Paul swallows thickly.

“DON’T LEAVE US!!!” bawls Jerome.

Those are the very last words Paul ever hears from Jerome.


	6. The Legion Recording

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah reverts back to isolating himself and cutting off ALL communication. What appeared to be a step forward is actually several steps backward for Harleen, and Hugo isn't too happy about it. At the threat of losing her patient, Harleen resorts to other methods to try and get the boy to talk, whether it's verbal or non-verbal, she NEEDS results! 
> 
> An Arkham security guard makes an offhanded comment, leading to a startling discovery.

Jeremiah Valeska refuses to talk, and he no longer participates in Harleen’s recommended activities; various fruit options and old newspaper clippings don’t interest him anymore. He’s regressed to his former state of isolation and communication is virtually nonexistent. He has no issues eating his three scheduled meals or taking vitamins and he remains passive around Arkham staff.

From the looks of things there is no hope of recovery for the young boy.

Professor Hugo Strange isn’t pleased about the overturned results. He expected progress but it would seem Harleen’s methods are not up to par.

 

* * *

 

“YOU’RE REASSIGNING MY PATIENT?! TO WHO?!”

“There’s no need to raise your voice, Miss Quinzel.” Professor Hugo Strange thumbs through Harleen’s written notes and it was as he expected; there is nothing there to indicate Jeremiah Valeska’s progressive development. He doesn’t look up when addressing Harleen, “Miss Peabody. She has experience treating mute patients and is keen on her first consultation with Patient E-146.”   

“It isn't fair,” Harleen remarks in a softer voice.

“Hmm?” Hugo glances up, dark eyes analyzing from behind rose-tinted glasses. “Fair?” The man scoffs and his tone turns sharp like the blade of a scalpel. “Need I remind you this is your  _first_  year of residency training and correct me if I’m wrong, are you seeking a career in child and youth psychiatry?”

“N-no…” The words cut deep and Harleen cringes, however, she isn’t prepared to give up just yet. She ignores her erratic heartbeat and pushes the matter further. “Arkham Asylum isn’t fashioned to house inmates under the age of 18, as stated in your ostentatious brochures.”

Hugo raises a bushy eyebrow, “Your point being?”

Battleship detected, time to attack – she can only hope she sinks it on the first attempt.

“If I recall correctly…” Harleen maintains her confidence and casually removes her glasses. She holds them up to the light and inspects the lens, pretending to notice a smudge. She grips the glasses in one hand and uses the other to wipe the end of her lab coat across the imaginary blemish. “You and Miss Peabody informed Commissioner Essen how Arkham facilitates minors with utmost consideration for their wellbeing. Staff members are  _trained_  and  _certified_  to work with adolescent patients.” Harleen pauses and glances over at Hugo, finishing off with a direct quote from him:  _“_ Yes Commissioner, you’re leaving the boy in capable hands. We’ll see to his accommodations and do our best to make his transition as easy as possible.”

A pen drops from Hugo’s hand and it bounces off the desk before rolling over the edge and landing on the floor. He pays no attention to the misplaced item and exclusively focuses on the young woman across from him. There’s a slight wrinkle in his brow but for the most part his face is inscrutable.

Harleen replaces her glasses and adjusts them on the bridge of her nose. She waits anxiously for his response, unsure if she hit her intended target.

The professor stands and expels an unenthusiastic sigh. He tucks his hands in the pockets of a stylish suit jacket before moving around the desk and approaching Harleen.

“….” Harleen looks up and meets the professor’s brown eyes – behind his tinted glasses they look like black pools of ink, reminding her of shark eyes.

“Miss Quinzel,” Hugo starts, “I’ll have you know I don’t take kindly to threats…. Especially when it involves my research.” He stares her down in a haughty fashion. “Furthermore, I won’t allow a neophyte to jeopardize Arkham in any way.”  

There’s something about Hugo’s choice of words that unsettles Harleen. One second he’s worried about personal research, the next he feigns protectiveness over a non-profit facility. He doesn’t seem like the type to care about anyone other than himself. Disregarding the subtle vitriol in his voice, Harleen maintains eye contact while addressing her superior. “I would like to request an extension and continue working with Jeremiah- err, Patient E-146.”

“And if I decline you request?” smirks Hugo.

Harleen holds her ground, despite Hugo’s patronizing attitude. “Then I’ll head straight to the GCPD and demand to speak to Commissioner Essen.”

Hugo’s expression falters and he furrows his eyebrows, doubtful of the woman’s intentions.

“And…” Harleen aims for the battleship once more, driven by faith and going in blind. “I’ll do an interview for Gotham Gazette. I’ll go on record about the illegal experiments you’re conducting below Arkham Asylum in connection with Indian Hill.”

Truthfully, Harleen knows nothing about Indian Hill or the basement floor – to which she is denied access. In her 8 months of employment at Arkham, Harleen overheard whispered rumors about what Hugo Strange does in the basement. Supposedly, there is a lab, and supposedly, there are mutants. Nobody knows for sure, but it makes for good gossip and a nighttime scare for the evening shift.

Withdrawing his right hand from his pocket, Hugo places it over Harleen’s left shoulder.

Blue eyes widen in fear and Harleen sucks in a breath and holds it.

“Well played,” Hugo comments – his arrogant manner dissolved away. “I’ll give you ONE month, schedule as many sessions as you want.”

“Really?!” Harleen was about to go off on a tangent of gratitude until Hugo held up a finger to shush her. She clamps her mouth shut and stares.

“Get him to communicate his thoughts, whether it’s through verbal communication, handwritten notes, physical gestures, or have him sing a fucking Christmas carol for all I care.” Hugo lowers his hand and ambles over to the office door. He curls his fingers around the doorknob and pulls it open. “If you fail then you’ll lose your patient to Miss Peabody. I don’t want to hear any griping or requested time extensions.” He turns and looks at the young psychologist, “Do I make myself clear Miss Quinzel?”

“Crystal.” Harleen nods and collects her folders and notes from Hugo’s desk. She flashed the sullen man a cheerful smile on her way out.

 

* * *

 

Harleen glances up from the table when the door beeps and the metal locks unhinge.

The door slides open and two orderlies escort Jeremiah Valeska into the room.

Due to the previous incident last month, where he threw his chair at Harleen, Jeremiah is now required to wear a straitjacket during sessions. The garment was custom-made and tailored to fit the boy’s petite frame. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, right arm over the left, while the long sleeves are tied in the back. There’s a single strap in the front of his chest that covers his arms and loops through his thighs, essentially cupping his crotch to prevent him from pulling at the sleeves. In the back the straitjacket there’s several buckles and ties, each latched in place, ensuring safety for both patient and staff.

“Good morning Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah gives her the coldshoulder and he takes a seat, casting a glance at the colorful assortment of boxes situated on the table.

Harleen’s optimistic attitude doesn’t dampen and she addresses the orderlies, “Thank you gentleman. That will be all.”

“We’ll be outside, holler if you need anything”, one of the orderlies says. They leave the room and the metal door slides shut, locking itself in place.

The blonde turns around and smiles. “Ah, I see you’ve noticed the treats. I don’t know your favorite, so I purchased a variety.” Harleen resumes her seat and motions to the candy.  “Starburst, Milk Duds, Jolly Ranchers, Skittles, Kit Kats, Milky Ways, Swedish Fish, Dubble Bubble, and Sour Patch Kids. Which one is your favorite?”

Jeremiah looks the options over before lowering his head. He stares unblinkingly at the floor and remains stationary.

“…..You know, the first time we did the fruit activity you chose everything that was red in color.” Harleen picks up the box of Jolly Ranchers and rips it open. She empties the hard candy out onto the tabletop and pushes all the red Jolly Ranchers forward. “Is red your favorite color?”

No answer.

“I’m partial to chocolate myself,” Harleen continues. She plucks a Kit Kat Bar out of a plastic bag and peels it open. “Do you want a bite?” Her lips part and she bites into the delicious treat.

Jeremiah blinks but he doesn’t respond.

That’s how the rest of their session goes and Harleen ends up getting a stomachache from all the candy she consumed.

 

* * *

 

It took some lengthy phone calls and begging for Harleen to gain access to Jeremiah’s personal effects, all of which were seized by the GCPD. She appeals to Commissioner Essen’s better nature by explaining her treatment approach and how personal items will aid in Jeremiah's rehabilitation and integration back into society.

The commissioner reluctantly signs a release form and allows the psychologist to go through a box of evidence collected at Jeremiah’s residence. In exchange, Harleen signs a legal binding document that prevents her from sharing information with the press as the investigation is ongoing.

When Jeremiah enters the interview room, he stops short and his eyes widen.

On the table there’s a line of toy cars and trucks, including a stuffed elephant.

Harleen stands and motions to the chair across from her, “You’re in for a special treat today.”

Slow and cautious, Jeremiah approaches the table and sits down. He gazes at the familiar toys, his face devoid of any emotion.

“Do you recognize this?” Harleen picks up a blue toy truck with a noticeable red stain on it. She’d been informed how fingerprints and blood samples had already been collected from the toys, so she could sterilize the items. She was able to remove the stains from the stuffed elephant, but she couldn’t get the marks off the plastic vehicles.

Ghostly reminders of what had taken place in Jeremiah’s home.

The redhead doesn’t say anything, but his head moves in an almost imperceptible nod.

A non-verbal response, Harleen scribbles that down in her notes.

Suddenly Jeremiah stands up.

Harleen looks up from her notes.

The boy walks away and moves to stand in front of the metal door.

“Jeremiah?” Harleen sets the toy back down, including her pen.

Unmoving, Jeremiah stands at the door, waiting to be escorted out.

The psychologist tries her best to coax Jeremiah back to his chair, but the boy isn’t having it. After 30 minutes, Haleen gives up and calls for the orderlies. 

 

* * *

 

“Your mother is dead.”

Jeremiah stares at the wall this time.

“You requested visitation with your brother, a request I have to deny.”

No answer.

Harleen swallows her frustration and sighs, “Jeremiah… How long are you going to keep this up? I understand you’re mad at me. Look, I’m sorry about the physical assault, that orderly was out of line and so was Hugo.”

Jeremiah has his head turned to the left, exposing a faint needlepoint scar – it was nearly impossible to notice unless somebody knew exactly what to look for. He doesn’t acknowledge Harleen’s apology.

“If you start participating in our sessions, I can guarantee you’ll see your brother.” Harleen switches up tactics and goes for bargaining. “In fact, I’ll arrange a meeting for next week IF you talk to me.”

The chair creaks underneath Jeremiah’s weight as he shifts and turns to face Harleen.

Harleen watches quietly, feeling a rush of hope course through her body.

Jeremiah inhales a long breath and his lips part, only to pause.

“Yes?” Harleen inclines in her seat.

“Burrrrp!”

Harleen blinks.

The boy rises to his feet, something close to mirth reflecting in his emerald orbs. He strides over to the metal door and stands there expectantly.

“Oh…” Harleen covers her face with one hand, while her temples pulse – great, this headache is going to plague her for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

“Dinner will be in an hour Mr. Valeska, I’ll see you then.” The orderly excuses himself from Jeremiah’s cell.

A security guard waits for the orderly to exit and when he does, he proceeds to lock the cell door with a key.

‘Iron keys, how archaic,’ Harleen thinks to herself. She glances to her left and to her right, taking in the empty corridor and unoccupied cells. Because Jeremiah is the youngest patient to grace Arkham Asylum, Hugo Strange reserved an entire cell block for his protection. The quality of the cells reminds Harleen of the GCPD holding cells, they reek of piss and rot. Harleen wishes Hugo would put in for a grant to remodel the place, but every time she brings it up, it falls on deaf ears.

The orderly, a hefty middle-aged man, folds Jeremiah’s straitjacket over his left arm. “Is the kid a mute or something?”

Harleen turns her blue orbs on the orderly and quirks an eyebrow, “Technically no, but at the rate he’s going I suppose the term applies.”

“Say uh….” The orderly moves closer to the psychologist, raising a hand to his mouth and whispering, “What’s he in for?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” Harleen responds. “However, if you tune in to Channel 9 News, I’m sure you’ll find your answers there.”

“Eh, my wife is old-fashioned, won’t let me buy a T.V. or a computer for the house.” The orderly shrugs and glances at the straitjacket in his hands. “I’ll drop this off down in laundry, have a good evening Miss.”

Harleen nods, “Thanks. You too.”

Footsteps fade away and the orderly disappears behind a corner.

Jeremiah sits on the edge of his bed, a hand resting on each knee. He stares at the cell wall, outwardly mesmerized by a trickle of water, a result of a leaky faucet from the floor above.

“My 30 days are almost up…” Harleen mutters, while observing Jeremiah’s nonchalant behavior.

“I beg your pardon ma’am?” The security officer says.

“Huh? Oh, nothing.” Harleen shakes her head, “Voicing my thoughts out loud. I’m about to lose my patient and I feel like such a failure…” She tears her gaze away from the ginger kid, a sad smile on her face. “I truly want to help him, but he refuses to cooperate and talk to me. In the end, I guess it’s better this way. He’ll get a new doctor and I’ll get a new patient.”

The security guard listens and after quiet consideration, he addresses one of Harleen’s concerns. “He does talk.”

“What?” Harleen snaps her attention to the man. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is,” he glances over his shoulder at Jeremiah.

Behind iron bars, Jeremiah is laying down on the bed, curled up on his right side. He keeps his back to the security guard and the psychologist.

“He talks to himself when nobody is around,” he continues. “When I’m doing my evening rounds, I’ll hear voices, down yonder-” He motions to the end of the hallway, “But as soon as I get close, he stops talking. I think he hears my footsteps or something…” The security guard furrows his eyebrows, as though doubting his own words. “Sounds like a full-blown conversation sometimes… And other times it’s arguments and shouting. I know for a damn fact nobody is on this hall late at night except for me and the kid… Couple other security guards have noticed it too.”

“How long has this been going on?"

“Since his arrival.”

Harleen gapes.

 

* * *

 

A lock clicks and the cell door creaks open, prompting Jeremiah to roll over on his left side. His nose crinkles at the sight of a blonde-haired woman.

“Good evening Jeremiah, I hope you don’t mind my stopping in for a visit.” Harleen enters the cell with a tray of food in her hands; a slightly burnt grilled cheese sandwich, a bowl of tomato soup, a package of saltine crackers, a cup of sliced grapes and apples, and a carton of 2% milk. She sets the tray down on the edge of Jeremiah’s bed, while the redhead sits up and places his feet on the floor.

In the corner of Jeremiah’s room there’s a steel toilet and sink, and further away from it is a steel table that’s bolted to the floor. Sitting on the tabletop is a neat pile of utensils – crayons, chalk, pencils, and 2 sketching pads. Nothing appears to have been touched or used since Harleen left them there months ago.

Jeremiah doesn’t find dinner appealing and he turns his nose up at it.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Harleen comments. She sits down on the bed, on Jeremiah’s right side. She rests her hands on her lap and goes off about her stressful weekend. “Remember Annabelle? The Pomeranian pup I’m babysitting for my neighbor? That little fluff monster got into my plants and ripped them to shreds! Thankfully, she didn’t injure her paws on the broken pieces, but she certainly made a mess. Dirt, shredded vegetation, ceramic pottery, it took HOURS to clean it.” Harleen giggles at the memory, “Aww but you should’ve seen her cute puppy eyes. I couldn’t stay mad at her.” She looks at Jeremiah, “Did you have any family pets growing up? A fish? A dog? Perhaps a cat?”

Jeremiah blinks and he cocks his head.

“No? I didn’t either,” Harleen shrugs. “My mom was allergic to animal dander, and so was my father. I almost convinced them to let me get an iguana, but they were out of our price range.”

Growing bored, Jeremiah stands up and shuffles past Harleen and the tray of food. He wanders over to the steel table and takes a seat on the bolted down chair. He faces away from her and focuses on the wall, its surface littered with scratch marks and etched doodles from prior inmates.

“Have you ever seen an elephant in real life? Only reason I ask is because of the stuffed toy you had at home.” Harleen stealthily reaches into her lab coat pocket and grips a digital voice recorder.

Jeremiah doesn’t answer and he closes his eyes.  

“I believe elephants are the smartest species out of the entire animal kingdom, wouldn’t you agree?” Training her eyes on Jeremiah, Harleen leans over the bed and slides her hand underneath the mattress. “If I had to guess, I think your favorite animal is an elephant. Good choice, mine would be… Hmm… It’s a tie between a snow leopard and tiger, both are absolutely gorgeous creatures.”

The redhead breathes in and out slowly.

Harleen retracts her hand and stands up. “We have one more session left, after that… You’ll be assigned to a psychiatrist.”

No response.

No reaction.

“Goodnight Jeremiah, and please, give the grilled cheese a chance. It’s not as bad as it looks.” Harleen exits the cell and the security guard locks it after her departure.

 

* * *

 

The following day, Harleen waits for the orderlies to escort Jeremiah to the showers – once again, the boy receives special treatment due to his age. He gets the entire shower facility to himself and round-the-clock security.

Once the coast is clear, Harleen has a secondary guard unlock Jeremiah’s cell. She enters the muggy cell, grabs the digital recorder, and rushes back to her office.

Harleen takes seat at her desk and whips out a USB cord. She attaches one end into the device and the other hooks into her laptop. She enters a numerical code, unlocks the laptop, and immediately seeks out the device when it connects. She clicks on the only available recording that’s time stamped for today.

The screen goes black for a moment before a rectangular box appears. The recording itself is 10 hours long but if there were any discussions taking place inside Jeremiah’s cell, then the device should’ve recorded it.

Leaning back in her chair and gripping a Styrofoam cup between her hands, Harleen watches the screen. She pays attention to the sound spectrum and the varying frequencies, while sipping on her coffee.

There’s nothing for the first 7 hours, so Harleen skips over until she’s near the 2:20 a.m. mark, that’s when she hears the first voice.

 

* * *

 

 

~~“I don’t want another doctor… What if it’s the creepy bald guy or his mean assistant?”~~

_“Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter. Quinzel, Strange, Peabody, none of them have your best interests at heart.”_

~~“I just…. I just want to go home-” a sob follows.~~

_“Shh, shh… Everything will be alright.”_

**“Yeah, what she said. New doctor, old doctor, who cares! I’m gonna watch out for ya.”**

**_ “If it’s the creepy bald guy… Can I fuck him?” _ **

**“EWWW! Yer a disgusting pig!”**

**_ “Bite me you little shit!”  _ **

_“Children, language please.”_

~~“When can I go home?"~~

**“That’s what I wanna know too.”**

**_ “It’s been ages… and you have yet to make good on your promise.”  _ **

_“……Soon. We must be patient.”_

~~“But I hate this place!”~~

**“Miah… Yer tired and worried, let’s lay down okay?”**

Creaking noises indicate weight has been put on the bed.

**_ “Do I get to masturbate tonight?” _ **

_“Are you serious? Is that the ONLY thing on your mind?”_

**_ “Duh!”  _ **

**“No. Miah needs his rest.”**

_“I agree.”_

**_ “BOO! You guys always team up against me…. What bout HIS vote?”  _ **

Silence.

_“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”_

**_ “Yeah? Well it’s not like you’re spouting bright ideas here toots! Come on babe, what do you say? Let’s live a little tonight~” _ **

Silence.

Soft murmurs are exchanged.

Silence.

**“Miah, get up.”**

~~“Why?”~~

_“Listen to him.”_

The bed creaks again and footsteps pad away from the bed.

Silence.

Uncanny, interminable, secrecy.

 

* * *

 

 

Harleen blinks, eyes glued to the screen as goosebumps crept up along her neck and arms.

The frequency lines are moving, barely, meaning a conversation is going on but the voice is too far away.

It might be her imagination, but Harleen DISTINCTLY heard female and male voices on the recording, including a disparity in age.

How the hell was that even possible?

One of the voices sounds close to Jeremiah’s own, the rest however, sound like different people.

Suddenly, the frequency lines stop moving altogether.

It’s absolute quietude.

Harleen leans closer, thinking she might have heard something in the background.

In that moment, an unknown voice – that of an adult male – screeches into the microphone.

Explosive, unhinged, and unrestrained laughter explodes from the speakers at full volume.

Harleen jolts, unintentionally catapulting her cup of coffee out of her hands. It strikes the laptop screen, spewing brown liquid all over the keyboard.

By then the hysterical laughing causes the microphone frequency to shoot off the charts, creating a deafening pinging noise that hurt the psychologist’s ears.

Quivering hands slam the laptop shut, the sound fading away seconds later.

In short, Harleen will need a new laptop and clean panties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed already, I changed my summary for this story. I realize it was misleading and I wrote the summary in a hurry - it should be more accurate now. Also, I forgot Hugo isn't really a doctor, he's a professor and a mad scientist really. Went through and switched 'doctor' for 'professor'. 
> 
> Did you like the chapter? Tell me your thoughts and theories, I enjoy hearing them~ :3


	7. Frater incendent igni conbures toto.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time.

Paul Cicero’s sudden and emotional departure leaves the twins reeling.

Unable to help themselves, Jerome and Jeremiah ask their mother about Paul and when he’ll return.

Lila either shuns them with silence or she’ll scream at them to shut-the-fuck-up. That’s the only verbal answer they receive, so they give up asking after a couple of days.

1 week turns into 2, and 2 weeks turn into a month.

Every single day, without fail, Jerome hovers at the living room window, upholding vigilance over the driveway. He’s waiting for Paul to return home, a box of chocolates in one hand and an extravagant bouquet of flowers in the other. Yeah, he and Lila will kiss and make up, like they always do after a bad fight.

Jeremiah doesn’t wait around by the window because unlike his brother, he’s accepts their fate without question. Father is gone. Mother is present. Jerome is unhappy. As for himself… Well, he feels okay on most days.

With Paul’s absence and Lila’s lack of maternal instincts, Jerome steps in and takes over on parental duties.

Hygiene is important, or at least that’s what they say in T.V. commercials. Jerome gets a bath going every night and sometimes he’ll discover Lila forgot to pay the heating bill, resulting in ZERO hot water. If that’s the case, Jerome boils water, lets it cool down a little, and dips a clean towel into it. He lather’s up body wash and scrubs his brother down from head to toe, despite Jeremiah’s protests. Jerome also reminds Jeremiah to brush his teeth, to comb his hair, and to set out clothes for school tomorrow.

They attend Lake Labish Elementary and are currently in kindergarten. At school they make the most of their homecooked meals and at the end of the day they try to sneak home as many snacks as they can.

On weekends, when they are completely without food, Jerome magically produces fruit – where he acquired it from, he doesn’t reveal. Whether it’s crab apples or sweet pear tomatoes, Jerome always has something up his sleeve. Once, Jerome summoned a brand-new box of cereal, but their obnoxious neighbor came over and banged on the front door until Lila answered. She claimed Jerome crawled in through an open window and stole food from the kitchen, to which Lila said she’d punish her son accordingly.

That night, Jerome couldn’t lay on his back – he had fresh, oozing welts that bled all over the sheets. A result of Lila’s leather belt cutting too deep into his skin, and she didn’t stop until her son passed out from overwhelming pain.

 

* * *

 

Even though Jerome liked to mouth off to their mother, habitually encouraging her to beat him, Jeremiah wasn’t granted clemency.

A fact that isn’t known about Paul Cicero is that he’s farsighted. In his 2 job professions – a farmer and mechanic – he didn’t need glasses. He learned to recognize tools by shape and size, and he organized everything in such a way that he didn’t have to read the numbers. Anything that involved reading, like doing inventory, he’d pass off to another worker. Lila, Jerome, and Jeremiah are the only ones who witnessed Paul in glasses – he only ever wore them at home.

Intoxicated beyond comprehension, Lila would often slap Jeremiah around and verbally abuse him. It’s possible she saw Paul, her husband, in Jeremiah. She throws random objects at the boy’s face, breaking his glasses on more then one occasion. It’s any wonder Jeremiah doesn’t have a face full of scars, or a missing eye.

 

* * *

 

By the time they enter 1st grade, Jerome and Jeremiah gain a better understanding of Lila’s state of mind. Too young to understand mental health diagnoses, Jerome and Jeremiah simply term it as ‘sick’. Like a bad cold, that make someone stay in bed for days – or weeks, in Lila’s case. Other times, their mother turns into a raging ball of energy and ‘fun’. Is fun the correct word for taking dangerous risks?

There was an incident in January where a severely inebriated Lila Valeska stole a shopping cart from Walmart and instructed her sons to climb inside. Under the guise of playing a game, she pushed her children down a freeway at 2:00 a.m.; even in the early hours, there’s plenty of traffic. A concerned citizen informs the GCPD but before they can apprehend the crazy woman, Lila fled with the twins to an empty construction site. They ended up falling asleep together in one of those concrete tunnels, and nearly froze to death as a result.

Whatever the case may be, it’s easier to tell people their mother is sick.

Why can’t Lila make it to the parent teacher conference? She’s sick.

Why can’t Lila come to the phone right now? She’s sick.

Why is there no food in the fridge? Why are the dishes growing mold? Why isn’t there a single clean garment inside the house? Because Lila is sick.

It sounds a hell lot better then saying she’s a miserable drunk who turns violent at the drop of a dime.

Jerome and Jeremiah barely scrape by undetected by Child Protective Services.

 

* * *

 

Jerome develops coping mechanisms to deal with the loss of his father and the abuse at home. In school, he’s known as the class clown and incessant prankster, frequently getting sent to the principal’s office or forced to write an apology letter to one of the teachers. He has an arsenal of jokes set aside and enjoys making people laugh, especially Jeremiah. Laughter is, after all, the best medicine – he’s certain Paul quoted it before. Jerome also spends as much time as he can outside, whether it’s at the park or at a friend’s house down the block. If there’s any school trips or activities going on at the elementary, he’ll sign himself and Jeremiah up – the less time they spend at home, the less time they spend with Lila.

Jeremiah, on the other hand, isn’t outdoorsy like his twin, nor does he draw attention at school. People assume he’s shy and hasn’t quite yet come out of his shell, others presume he’s stupid and dull in the head which is why he can’t talk. However, Jeremiah completes his homework in a timely fashion and maintains top grades, so the teachers don’t see it as a red flag. Sure, Jeremiah comes to school with dirty clothes, or sometimes his glasses are duct taped together, and once he had a black eye, prompting a phone call home. Lila explained how Jerome and Jeremiah like to roughhouse and the black eye was a result of play fighting. The principal accepts the answer and it’s never brought up again.

If Jerome is off with his friends or adventuring in the park, Jeremiah will stay put in his bedroom and read books he checked out at the school library. Immersing himself in fictional worlds with heroic characters is his favorite pastime – he can’t stand to watch boring reality T.V. shows. Books are his safe haven, as is Jerome, if he has either one of them in his life then he’ll survive.

 

* * *

 

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY MATCHES?!” Lila shrieks.

Jeremiah hears his mother’s voice and panics.

“Put em’ away!” Jerome urges and he hops off the bed, trying to kick the burnt out matches underneath a pile of toys.

It’s too late, the bedroom door slams open.

“You little shits! I knew you stole my matches!” The woman marches in and grabs Jerome by the collar of his shirt.

Jerome tries to pry her hand off, but Lila is faster and stronger.

In a huff of rage, Lila chucks her son at the bedroom wall.

BAM!

The boy crashes into blue painted drywall and bounces onto the floor with a hard thud. The assault knocked the wind out of him, resulting in his choking and gasping for air.

“Jay!” Jeremiah barely got the word out when Lila kicked him in his gut; fortunately, she’s wearing soft slippers and not her sharp pointed heels. It’s  _extremely_  painful, nonetheless.

“My matches are NOT TOYS!” Lila hisses. She watches Jeremiah wrap his arms around his stomach and keel over onto his side.

Burnt matches litter the bedroom floor and even if the boys had concealed them, Lila would’ve noticed the scent of sulfur and smoke. This is the 4th time this week her matches went missing and she was growing tired of it.

Jeremiah is crying.

Jerome is whimpering from the pain in his right shoulder.

Lila rolls her eyes, “Stop yer sniveling or I’M GONNA GIVE YA SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!”

Their mother’s threat is enough to silence the twins.

“C’mere ya little brat-” Lila snatches Jerome by his arm and jerks him up.

Forced to stand, Jerome bit his tongue to avoid complaining about the throbbing ache in his shoulder. He blinks tears away and looks up at his mother.

“Go to the store and grab me some of those free matches, the ones they keep right next to the register.” Turning to face the door, Lila shoves her son forward.

Jerome stumbles a little and he barely catches himself on the doorframe. He pauses for a second and glances at his brother, “S’all my fault, I’m the one who stole yer matches. Don’t hit Miah okay?”

Hearing the nickname Paul so fondly bestowed upon his son was enough to set fire to Lila’s blood. She scowls, face flushing red, and suddenly charges at Jerome.

The redhead gasps and his adrenaline spikes. He hastily turns and dashes down the hallway, making his way to the front entrance. He can hear Lila cursing from inside the house while he bursts through the screen door. He grabs his bike from the overgrown lawn and peddles across the road, making it to the safety of the sidewalk. Jerome steals a glance over his shoulder, and he shudders at the visual.

Lila looks like a monster, standing there under the porch, cloaked in shadow and avoiding the sun. Her pasty white complexion and bloodshot eyes are the stuff of nightmares, and that’s not counting her stained teeth. Her raven hair, with a few random hair rolls here and there, sticks out wildly with no discernible style. She resembles medusa, if the fabled creature wore raggedy old bath robes, slippers, and cheap perfume.

The front door bangs shut and Jerome races to the drug store as fast as his little legs can pump the pedals.

 

* * *

 

Gotham Central Park, located in the heart of the city, both pet friendly and people friendly. There’s a variety of playgrounds that cater to different age groups. There’s running trails, fitness equipment, and a gorgeous pond – manmade, of course, and it’s only 7 inches deep.

It’s Saturday, one of the busiest days of the week. Families and singles alike visit the park.

Two identical redheads are sitting underneath a shaded tree, perched on a wooden bench with green highlights.

“Here ya go,” Jerome deposits a couple matchbooks onto his brother’s lap.

Jeremiah looks down and quirks an eyebrow, “Thank you.” He takes the gift without question and tucks them into his trousers.

“How come ya like playing with matches? You don’t even smoke Miah.”

“Hmm…” Jeremiah shrugs, “There’s something calming about it.”

“Pfft! There’s nothing calming about getting smacked around by Lila” Jerome retorts.

Jeremiah visibly cringes and murmurs, “I’m sorry…”

“……” Regretting his choice of words, Jerome places both hands on his brother’s face. He tilts Jeremiah’s head up until they’re facing each other. “Don’t be. I can handle whatever that bitch has to throw at me, I just don’t like it when she hurts you.” He sighs and gently pushes some of Jeremiah’s red locks aside, tucking them behind his left ear. “Don’t light em’ in the house anymore. Go outside or at least crank open a window, okay?”

“Okay…” Jeremiah nods.

“Good.” Jerome inclines and presses a kiss against his brother’s forehead.

The loving gesture is something Paul Cicero would’ve done. He was the affectionate parent and Lila clearly was not.

Jeremiah slips his arms around Jerome and embraces him. “I love you, Jay.”

“Love ya too, Miah.” Jerome returns the hug and nuzzles his face against Jeremiah’s shoulder.  “My adorable, little pyromaniac~”

“Huh?” Jeremiah pulls back and blinks at his brother. “How do you know that word?”

“I think I heard it on a cartoon show or something. He’s like a supervillain? Or maybe he’s a superhero, I dunno.” Jerome shrugs.

“Oh… I’m not a pyromaniac though.”

“Ya sure about that?”

Before Jeremiah could argue his case, a stranger approaches them.

“Excuse me,” says a deep voice. “Are you here by yourselves?”

The freckled redheads look up at a man dressed in a black uniform with the letters ‘GCPD’ outlined on the front breast pocket.

“Great, it’s the fuzz,” Jerome grumbles under his breath.

“What’s that?” The man narrows his blue eyes on Jerome.

“We don’t talk to strangers,” Jerome replies curtly.

“Oh, that’s a smart thing to do.” He clears his throat and extends his right hand, “Officer Jim Gordon, I work down at the Gotham Central Police Department.”

Jerome resorts to glaring at the blonde-haired man, refusing to acknowledge the introduction.

Jeremiah grasps Jim’s hand and shakes it twice. “Nice to meet you Mr. Gordon. You asked if we were alone? The answer is no, our mother is here.”

“Is that so?” Skeptical about the answer, Jim releases the kid’s hand and surveys the area curiously. “Where is she?”

“Over there, with our baby sister.” Jeremiah points to a middle-aged woman at the playground, who appears to be playing with her infant daughter.

Jim stares over at the playground and he tries to wave the woman over, “Ma’am? Hello there!”

The woman picks her giggling daughter up and glances over at police officer. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Are these your sons?” Jim motions to the bench and turns his head-

The park bench is empty.

“What? Who are you talking about?” The woman furrows her eyebrows, “It’s just me and my daughter officer. I don’t have any other children.”

Dumbfounded, Jim turns a 360, but he doesn’t see the ginger twins anywhere. “Huh…. Sorry about that ma’am, have a good day!” He scratches his chin, shrugs, and resumes patrolling the area.

 

* * *

 

Lighting matches and hiding the evidence is satisfactory.

It serves its purpose, but like all highs, it’s only temporary.

Jeremiah starts setting fires to small miscellaneous things. He burns twigs, dead leaves and pieces of grass. He’ll grab pieces of newspaper out of a dumpster or discarded boxes and burn them in an alleyway. If he can get his hands on a live beetle or butterfly, he’ll burn those too; he especially enjoys watching their tiny legs and wings flutter around in the flames. 

Eventually, it isn’t enough to gratify Jeremiah. There’s a strong irresistible impulse to ignite a flame and watch it eat away at something bigger, something organic.

 

* * *

 

The neighbor, Miss Eugenia, takes notice of her cat’s prolonged absence. Normally, ‘Princess Carolyn’ spends 15 minutes in the garden and she’ll take an additional 5 minutes to patrol the fenced area around her residence. It’s quite unlike the Siamese cat to disappear for very long.

After 3 hours of truancy, Miss Eugenia takes to walking around the block and calling out for her beloved pet. “Princess Carolyn! Where are you? Here kitty, kitty!” She purses her lips together and makes kissing noises. She’s also carrying an open can of tuna, for extra motivation. 

“Good afternoon Miss Eugenia,” says a teenager. He tosses up a basketball and it swishes through the net above his garage. “Did Princess Carolyn get out again?”

“Yes Kenny, I believe she did.” The elderly woman sighs and proceeds to fan herself. It’s about 82 degrees outside but with the humidity, it feels like 90. “Would you mind helping an old lady out?”

Kenny captures his basketball before it bounces over onto the road. He laughs at the remark and nods, “Sure. Lemme grab my bike, I’ll check the alleyways.”

“Bless your heart Kenny. I’ll go door-to-door and ask if anyone has seen my precious cat.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kenny tosses the basketball on the front lawn and he walks around the side of his house to fetch his bike.

Miss Eugenia scurries up to a pastel yellow house and she rings the doorbell.

Mr. Fredrickson answers the door and his eyes light up in recognition. “Miss Eugenia! Would you like to come in? Lucy made fresh squeezed lemonade for breakfast, I’m sure we have half a pitcher left over.”

The elder held up her hand and politely declined the offer. “No thank you, I have to watch my blood sugar level. Speaking of Lucy, would you mind asking her and your son if they’ve seen Princess Carolyn? I fear she climbed over the fence and is wandering the neighborhood.”

“Ah, please step inside. I’ll go ask them right now and I’ll double check the back yard.” Mr. Fredrickson steps aside and motions for his neighbor to step in.

Miss Eugenia steps into the cool house and breathes a sigh of relief when the AC hits her face. “Thank you dear.” 

“No problem.” He closes the door and calls out for his children, “Lucy?! Barry?! Could you come downstairs please?!”

The children leave their bedrooms and zoom downstairs, each attempting to push one another over. Mr. Fredrickson scolds the children for their recklessness before inquiring about Miss Eugenia’s cat. Neither child has seen the blue-eyed Siamese, so their father dismisses them.

Mr. Fredrickson checks the back yard and as expected, it’s empty. He returns to the front entryway and addresses his neighbor. “Sorry Miss Eugenia, Lucy and Barry haven’t seen your cat and our yard is empty. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out though.”

“Much appreciated, have a good day Mr. Fredrickson.”

“You too.” Mr. Fredrickson opens the door for her while she exits.

The process repeats for the next 8 houses, nobody has seen the domesticated feline and Miss Eugenia grows anxious with every passing minute.

There’s one house she isn’t looking forward to visiting…. A mint green house, surrounded by a nice, picket white fence; the fence is probably the only thing pleasant about it. The yard is overgrown with weeds and shingles are missing from the roof. One of the front windows is boarded up, presumably because somebody broke in, although the perpetrator was never arrested. The property and house are a result of neglect. It’s an eyesore on their perfect cul-de-sac. 

However, Miss Eugenia isn’t prepared to leave any stones unturned. She gathers up her courage and hobbles up to the front door. She tries the doorbell first, only to discover it’s broken. No surprise there. She resorts to tapping her knuckles against the door.

Shuffled movement indicate someone is approaching, and FAST.

The door suddenly swings open and a young boy stands there, his emerald eyes looking the woman up and down. “We’re Jewish, thanks anyway.” He attempts to close the door-

Miss Eugenia pushes her right foot forward and blocks the door. “Do I look like a bible thumper to you?”

“…” The redhead wrinkles his nose, seemingly irritated. He looks down at her shoe, then to her hand, “What’s with the cat food?”

“Glad you asked.” She retracts her foot, “Princess Carolyn is missing. She’s a short-haired Siamese cat and has stunning blue eyes, like the color of the ocean.”

“Princess Carolyn?” The kid snorts at the name choice. “Why would ya give an animal a human name?”

This time, Miss Eugenia is the annoyed individual. “Could you check your back yard? Please?”

“Hmph, what’s in it for me?”

The question elicits a scoff and she shakes her head in disbelief. “I’ll give you fresh squash and tomatoes from my garden.”

“Do I look like a shmuck to ya?” The redhead huffs out his chest arrogantly and rubs his fingers together; the universal sign for money.

“Look, you little rude miscreant, I don’t have money lying around. I’m 71 years old. I live off a meager retirement check that’s issued once a month and that HARDLY covers living expenses. Now, if you have any respect for your elders you’ll go and look-”

Mid-sentence the door bangs shut, followed by a lock clicking in place.

Miss Eugenia gawks.

The soft pitter-patter of footsteps move across the hallway and enter the living room area.

“Who was it?” Lila slurs from the recliner.

“Some bitchy old lady lookin’ for her cat,” Jerome replies. He sits down on the sofa, next to his brother.

At the mention of a cat, Jeremiah glances up from his book and stares at the other redhead.

Jerome catches it and he snaps his attention to his twin but Jeremiah swiftly averts his gaze.

“Probably one of the neighbors who wants to bitch about my yard, pfft!” Lila rolls her eyes and downs the rest of her beer.

Jeremiah pretends to be engrossed in his book, while ignoring his brother’s silent question.

Miss Eugenia is appalled and offended by the treatment she just received. She had half a mind to march home and have her husband, a decorated war veteran, speak to the ill-mannered child and his family. Like an angry bird with ruffled feathers, the elderly woman leaves the area and walks over to the adjacent home. Only 4 more houses to go and so far things aren’t looking good for Princess Carolyn.

Right as Miss Eugenia nears the gate, a familiar voice calls out.

“Hey Miss Eugenia!”

“Kenny?” She turns around and watches the teenager ride up on his stylish bike.

Kenny screeches to a halt on the sidewalk and he clenches and unclenches the bike handles. “Um…” He appears nervous and hesitant.

“What is it? Come on now, cat got your tongue?” Miss Eugenia teases.

The teenager laughs awkwardly but he refuses to look her. He fidgets with the mechanisms next to the handles before clearing his throat, “Question…. Does Princess Carolyn have a collar with a silver bell on it?”

“Yes!” Miss Eugenia practically jumps, the excitement glowing in her eyes. “Have you found her?!”

“Uh…about that…” Kenny frowns slightly and he shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know if it’s her…”

“Well? What are you waiting for? Take me to her,” Miss Eugenia insists.

“Okay.” Kenny reluctantly climbs off his bike and he walks it down the sidewalk, leading his elderly neighbor past the row of houses.

Close in tow, Miss Eugenia picks up on a peculiar odor floating through the air. She didn’t notice it earlier, but it reminds her of the time she burnt her hair on a curling iron. It reeks! She avoids breathing through her nose and instead uses her mouth.

Kenny finally stops by an alleyway and he points to a small, figure on the gravel path. From far away it looks like a mound of dead leaves.

“Hmm?” Miss Eugenia follows his pointing finger. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No… That’s a dead animal right there, a cat, I think… It has a collar with a silver bell on it. Like I said, it might not be-” Kenny trials off as the elder rushes down the alley.

Panic and fear weigh heavy on the woman’s heart but she clings to a sliver of hope. It could be anyone’s cat. Why, everyone in the neighborhood has a family pet! This one, as unfortunate as its demise was, could belong to someone else.

“Oh my God…” Miss Eugenia wasn’t prepared for the grisly spectacle.

The corpse was still smoldering and tiny flames cling to the ears and tail. The rest of its fur burnt away, revealing scorched flesh and producing a putrid stench.

Gasoline is among the awful odors.

Somebody deliberately doused the cat and set fire to it.

The collar around its neck is charred black but the silver bell is undamaged.

Overcome with sorrow and disgust, Miss Eugenia covers her face and screams.

Jeremiah is mid-way through peeling his t-shirt off when he hears an odd sound. He lowers his arms and stares at the bathroom window. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Jerome fiddled with the zipper and buttons on his pants. The twins are getting ready for a bath, as they always do around 8:00pm. However, something doesn’t feel right and it’s been bugging Jerome since the old hag showed up at their front door.

Forgoing stripping, he addresses his brother. “What did you do Miah?”

“What?” Jeremiah removes his t-shirt and tosses it in a growing pile of dirty clothes.

Jerome huffs impatiently, “Did you do something to that lady’s cat?”

“No,” Jeremiah shakes his head and he deliberately faces the tub.

“…” Jerome reaches out and grabs his brother by the wrist. “Look at me.”

“No.” Jeremiah remains steadfast and refuses to listen.

Losing patience, Jerome yanks Jeremiah closer, forcing his brother to misstep. Naturally, Jerome catches Jeremiah in his arms and he gives him a tight bear hug. “I’m not letting go until you tell me what you did.”

Chest-to-chest, Jeremiah squirms and claws at his sibling’s arms. “Let me go! Right now!” His face turns angry red and his glasses fog up.

Jerome is the stronger of the two. “Nope!” He sticks his tongue out, leans closer, and allows a string of saliva to dangle precariously over Jeremiah’s face.

“NOOOO!” Officially grossed out, Jeremiah succumbs to Jerome’s dirty tactics. He hangs his head in defeat and hides his shame by burying his face against his brother’s neck. “I…I killed her cat, then I burned it…”

“YOU WHAT?!” Jerome accidently spits on Jeremiah’s hair.

Jeremiah doesn’t notice, but he does flinch at the harsh tone. “Jay… I didn’t leave any evidence.” He raises his head and studies Jerome’s panicked expression. “She’ll never know who did it.”

“Yeah but who do ya think she’s gonna blame? HUH?!” Exasperated with his brother, Jerome shoves Jeremiah away. He’s way too stressed to worry about a bath right now. They’re the poorest family in the neighborhood, OF COURSE they’d get the blame.

“I’m sorry!” Jeremiah snivels.

“Don’t you fucking cry!” Jerome warns for their sake; Lila hates crying.

“S-sorry…” Too late. Jeremiah feels awful about his actions and he’s crying big crocodile tears.

“Miah…” Jerome is about to hug his twin when they both hear a loud noise.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

The boys freeze in terror.

“Yeah, yeah hold the hell up!” Lila snarls irritably from the living room. She rises to her feet, saunters across the living room, and moves down the hall. Nearing the front door, she grips the handle and opens it, revealing a distraught elderly woman.

“Arrest this woman and her rotten kids! They’re the ones who broke into my back yard, kidnapped my precious Carolyn, and set her on fire!!!”

“Who did  _what_  now?” Lila doesn’t have a clue as to what’s going on. “I don’t know any Carolyns.”

Jerome and Jeremiah appear by their mother’s side. They peer around her hips, eyes widening at the sight of 2 police officers on their porch.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me! You know  _exactly_  what your sons did to Princess Carolyn!” Miss Eugenia shakes a finger at Lila.

Lila grits her teeth, like an animal bearing its fangs when threatened. “Princess Carolyn?” she repeats dubiously.

Jeremiah pulls on his mother’s bathrobe, prompting Lila to look down. “I-I think Princess Carolyn is her cat?”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Lila cackles.

“A cat?” One of the officers reiterates. He glances at his partner and addresses the elderly woman. “Ma’am you said your baby was abducted and you knew the culprits responsible. Are you telling me it’s a house pet and  _not_  a human baby?”

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE?!” Miss Eugenia throws her hands up in the air and she swivels around to glower at the cops. “Her devil sons are constantly sneaking into my garden and stealing homegrown produce! Thieves and liars, the lot of them! They’re all better off in jail! I mean, did you LOOK at their yard?!”

“S’cuse me?” Lila had enough bullshit for one day. She steps out the house and balls up her fists, “Watch it lady. If yer gonna accuse my sons, then ya better have some hardcore evidence!”

“O-oh!” Miss Eugenia put a hand over her heart, a frightful look in her eyes.

“Wow, calm down ma’am.” An officer steps in front of Lila to prevent her from attacking the frail old woman. “This is all one big misunderstanding.”

“He says it’s a ‘misunderstanding’,” Miss Eugenia mumbles, shaking her head in doubt. She utters curse words, mentions the devil and its spawn, all the while trembling. The horrors her cat went through… She was tortured to death. The thought alone brings tears to Miss Eugenia’s eyes and she weeps into her hands.

“Let’s get you home,” an officer encourages. He puts his arms around the upset woman and guides her away from the porch.

The 2nd officer exhales a frustrated sigh and he rubs his temples with forefinger and thumb; he’s got a major headache coming on. “Can you tell me where you and your sons were today?” he inquires, glancing at Lila.

“We were home all day, didn’t go anywhere.” She motions to the driveway, “Don’t have a vehicle.”

“I see, right.” The officer squints and looks from one redhead to the other. “Twins, I’ll be damned. Don’t see that every day.”

Jerome and Jeremiah duck behind their mother.

“They look young…” the officer continues, “Why aren’t they in school?”

“Because it’s a weekend,” says Lila.

“No, it’s a weekday. Today is Wednesday.”

“Oh…. Guess I ought to check my calendar more often.” Lila tries to play it off with a casual laugh.

“Hm, you ought to.” The officer produces a notepad and pen. “What’s your name ma’am? And the name of your sons, including the school they attend.”

Dark, brown eyes narrow on the man and she doesn’t bother to hide the distrust in her tone. “Lila Valeska, and my boys are Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska. They go to Lake Labish Elementary… Why are you hassling us?”

“I’m not here to hassle anyone Mrs. Valeska-”

“Miss,” Lila corrects. “My husband and I are separated.”

“I see, sorry to hear that.”

“Spare me,” Lila rolls her eyes. “Are ya gonna give me a ticket? If that's the case, ya better give one to that crazy bitch for scaring my boys.”

“No tickets today.” He closes the notepad and tips his hat to her, “I’m going to call the school tomorrow, make sure your sons attend. Have a good evening Miss Valeska.”

“Whatever.” Lila slinks back into her home and closes the door. 

Midnight rolls around and the Valeska twins find themselves unable to sleep. Usually they have a fan going in their bedroom, but Lila broke it a couple of weeks ago, making their nights too hot and unbearable. The humidity makes their clothes sticky, so they opt to strip and cuddle on the floor – it’s cooler down there.

Jerome has his left arm draped around Jeremiah’s waist; that’s the only physical contact they can bare to stand right now. It’s sweltering inside the tiny bedroom, even though the window is open.

“Miah…” He wiggles his fingers and draws circles on Jeremiah’s warm chest. “How’d ya do it?”

Jeremiah’s skin tingles under the light touch. Like his brother, he can’t sleep – it has less to do with the heat and more to do about today’s events. He didn’t expect Miss Eugenia to show up on their doorstep with law enforcement. She POINTED at him and Jerome, referring to them as the devil’s spawn. Crap, maybe he should’ve hidden the body…. “Do what?”

“How’d ya kill the neighbor’s cat? She’s fast and she don’t really like us.” Jerome shifts his hand and strokes Jeremiah’s arm. He barely grazes the flesh with his fingernails, leaving a trail of goosebumps here and there.

“Oh…” Jeremiah shivers and he rolls over to face Jerome. He tucked his hands together and rested his cheek against them, gazing at his brother’s glowing green orbs. “I stole some of mother’s medication… the stuff that makes her sleep.”

“Ambien?”

“Mhmm.” Jeremiah nods, “I crushed a couple pills and mixed it in a can of tuna. All I had to do was sit and wait… After Princess Carolyn fell asleep, I took her to the roughest alleyway, the one with all the potholes, and I drenched her in gasoline.”

“Where the heck did you get gasoline?” Jerome moves his hand to the back of Jeremiah’s head and combs his fingers through the soft, red hair.

“Mr. Fredrickson’s lawnmower…. I siphoned enough to fill a water bottle.”

Jerome didn’t know what to say! Hell, he was fucking _awestruck_. There’s a short pause, then he speaks up. “At least it’s a peaceful way to go… Like, who gets to die while they’re sleeping? Besides those old farts in the nursing home.”

“She….um…. wasn’t quite asleep…”

“… What do you mean?” Jerome stops moving his hand.

“I presumed she was asleep…” Jeremiah hesitates, and he looks past his twin, pretending to focus on the window behind him. “Soon as I started pouring gasoline on her, she opened her eyes and… cried? I don’t know if that’s the right word. She was meowing _really_ loud, and I got worried someone might hear… I kicked her across the alleyway and when she was down, I lit a matchstick and threw it at her.”

Jerome silently processes the information; an odd combination of emotions stirs inside his chest. Part of him is mortified by Jeremiah’s confession. He burned an animal ALIVE, basically torturing the poor, defenseless creature – she was probably too doped up to run away. Fuck, now he knows why Miss Eugenia was upset, she had every right to be. The other part of Jerome acknowledges his brother’s pyromania, he’s been aware of it for a year now. From burning matches, to sticks and grass, to insects, and now live animals. What would come next? The thought frightened Jerome a little…

“Jay?” Jeremiah feels uncomfortable with the silence. He closes his eyes, a soft whimper pushing past his lips. “What’s wrong with me?”

“N-nothing!” Jerome scoots closer until their sweaty naked bodies are pressed together. He wraps his arms around Jeremiah and pulls him in for a hug. “Nothing is wrong with ya…. Yer perfect Miah~”

Jeremiah experiences a heat flash from their proximity, but he doesn’t mind. He presses his face against Jerome’s chest and sighs, “Do you hate me Jay?”

“Nope, I couldn’t hate you even if I tried.” Jerome nuzzles a kiss against the top of Jeremiah’s head, “I’m yer brother, sworn to protect and love, remember?”

“Heh, you got that off your ridiculous cartoons.”

“So? It’s good stuff,” Jerome says with a giggle.

“Maybe-” Jeremiah yawns.

Jerome yawns too.

They fall asleep around 2:00 a.m., while Lila downs a bottle of vodka in the other room and shouts Russian profanities at the T.V.

 

* * *

 

Sunday mornings are meant for rest, even for those non-religious folks.

The Valeska family sleeps in well past noon, except for one.

Jeremiah rises the same time the sun does. No matter how tired he may be, his biological clock refuses to let him sleep in. He usually lounges around in bed with Jerome, patiently waiting for his twin to wake up and cook something.

However, Jeremiah is exceptionally hungry today and he doesn’t think he can wait for his brother. He plucks his glasses off the nightstand, puts them on, and slips out of bed.

Jerome is a heavy sleeper and naturally, he doesn’t stir when Jeremiah climbs over him.

Slipping on a pair of fleece pajama pants and a plain t-shirt, Jeremiah exits the bedroom. He enters the kitchen, flicks the lights on, and searches through the fridge. He’s a little disappointed at the selection of breakfast foods: Beer, wine, a couple of sodas – Jeremiah hates soda, cheese singles, dried out bologna, and an empty bottle of mustard.

Sad. Jeremiah was hoping for eggs at least. He closes the refrigerator door and climbs up on the counter instead. He opens the cabinets and discovers a couple packages of chicken flavored Top Ramen. He grabs 2 packages and climbs down the counter.

The redhead tries to be as quiet as possible while scrubbing a small pot with dish soap and rinsing it out. Satisfied, Jeremiah fills the pot with tap water and places it over the bottom right burner. He adjusts the settings on the oven and turns the electric burner on. Knowing it would take a couple minutes to heat up and boil, Jeremiah rushes to the bathroom.

Jeremiah enjoys the quiet weekend mornings, where he doesn’t have to worry about Lila and Jerome ripping into each other; those two liked to bicker every chance they got. There’s the sound of a flushing toilet, followed by the bathroom sink turning on. Jeremiah thoroughly washes his hands and dries them on his t-shirt – all the towels are dirty.

Out of nowhere the smoke alarm goes off.

EEEOOOEEEOOOEEEOOO!!!

“AH!” Jeremiah covers his ears and his heart rate spikes. He bolts out of the bathroom and runs into the kitchen. He skids to a halt by the kitchen table and gasps.

The wrong burner had been turned on and a box of cereal caught fire. The flames are growing FAST and they're starting to climb up the cabinets.  

Lila comes rushing into the kitchen and she screams when she sees the disaster unfolding. “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” She turned the sink on and grabbed a dirty mixing bowl out of the pile of dishes. She filled it with water and cursed at her son’s incompetence. “How many times do I have to tell ya NOT to touch the oven?!”

“S-sorry mother…” Jeremiah backs away, covering his mouth to stifle his coughing.

“Ya know how much this is gonna cost to fix?!” Lila abruptly whirls around and throws icy cold water onto the fire.

The cereal box hisses and sizzles under the shower of water. Lila repeats the process 2 more times, dumping water on both the oven and the cabinets.

The fire dies out, and Lila shuts the oven off afterwards.

Jeremiah opens one of the kitchen windows to air the smoke out. “I-I’ll clean up mother, you can go back to bed if y-you want.”

“Jeremiah,” Lila growls.

Cowering, Jeremiah slowly turns and-

BAM!

Lila’s bony knuckles tear into Jeremiah’s face, breaking his glasses on impact.

Jeremiah blacks out.

 

* * *

 

4 days have passed since the fire incident in the kitchen.

Jeremiah is sporting a purple shiner over his right eye and his glasses are held together by blue masking tape.

The oven still works, thank God, or else Lila would’ve thrown an even bigger bitch fit, quite possibly locking the boys away in the basement for the rest of their lives.

Jerome is the one who cleaned up the kitchen using a combination of apple cider vinegar and water to remove the stains on the cabinet and oven. It looks spotless, as though a fire never occurred.

Seated at the kitchen table, Jeremiah is working on his math homework.

Jerome is bored and he doesn’t feel like furthering his academic studies. “Hey Miah, wanna go to the park?”

Jeremiah shook his head.

“Aww…. why not? It’s nice outside, we can go catch tadpoles in the pond or chase the geese around the park.”

“No thank you,” Jeremiah mumbles. He erases his answer and re-writes it in a neater fashion.

“Hmph…” Jerome pouts.

Jeremiah glances over his math book, “If you really want to go… Go. You don’t need me to hold your hand, do you?”

“Pfft! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means… Stop acting like a baby. You can go places without me. I’ll be fine, and so will you.” Jeremiah resumes reading.

“Meanie…” Jerome stands up and walks over to his brother.

Jeremiah looks up, just as Jerome cups his face.

“Ya feeling okay? Does yer head hurt? Or yer eye?” Fingers stroke up and down Jeremiah’s cheeks.

“Mhmm. I feel okay, you don’t have to worry.” Jeremiah tries to jerk away from his sibling’s grip.

“When I get back, we’re gonna ice that thing. I don’t wanna hear any whining around either.” Jerome lets go.

“Very well.” Jeremiah hunches over and works on another math problem, scribbling down his process notes.

Jerome playfully ruffles Jeremiah’s hair, earning himself a death glare. He giggles and waves, “See ya later dork~”

Jeremiah throws a pencil at his sibling, who ducks out of the way and sprints out the front door. He grabs his bike, hops on the seat, and pedals his way to the nearest park.

The house is quiet for another hour, Jeremiah finishes his homework promptly and resorts to reading a library book – nonfiction novels have been his favorite lately.

The beast rises from her slumber and a hungover Lila Valeska rambles into the kitchen. She grabs her purse off the microwave and rummages for her cigarettes, only to discover an empty carton. “Fuck my life…” She eyes Jeremiah, “How old are ya?”

Jeremiah glances up from his book, “I’m 6.”

“Just my luck…” Lila can’t send a 6-year-old to buy her cigarettes. Children, completely useless for most of their lives! “Where’s Jerome?”

“The park.” Jeremiah looks down at his book.

“Shithead better not bring another frog home. If he does, ya better throw it out or I’ll whip the both of ya.” Lila straps her purse over her right shoulder and spits into a hand. She pats down the loose, raven curls on her head and proceeds to the front door. She opens it, slams it shut, and makes her way down the sidewalk.

Jeremiah closes his book and stares at the blank kitchen wall – it used to have his and Jerome’s artwork hanging up but after Paul left…. Lila threw everything away.

 

* * *

 

The Hindu practice a fire ceremony called ‘Yanja’, which translates to sacrifice, devotion, worship, and offering. The ancient practice heals trauma and helps people connect with the spiritual realm.

The Shingon School of Japanese Buddhism practices ‘Goma’, an esoteric fire ritual. There are 4 types of ritual fire offerings. The 1st, and most notable one, is the ‘Peaceful Ritual Fire Offering’. It may be performed to pacify the results of unwholesome action, or to clear away obstacles and defilements. The other 3 are less spectacular and focus on benefiting 1 or 2 people.

Among religious sects, be it Christians or Jews, fire is used for both practical and ceremonial customs. The act of lighting a candle, writing in a journal by candlelight, or putting one on the table before dinner signifies a call to the senses, an invitation to be fully present.

In Wicca culture, fire is perhaps the most significant of all foundations. Fire is the element of transformation, and is associated with illumination, health, strength, and creativity. Always in motion, even when rooted in one spot, it I the most active and animated of the classical elements.

All rather fascinating, but Jeremiah gravitates towards the purification properties of fire.

_Purification. Noun. Defined as: the removal of contaminants from something._

For example, gold is purified in only one way: with fire.

Purification comes from being plunged into the heart of fire – the place where fire is harshest and turns blue – and being kept there until that which is being purified loses any resemblance to what it once was.

Jeremiah is no goldsmith, nor is he religious. He doesn’t practice Wicca, and he’s certain he doesn’t have an ounce of Japanese or Hindu blood in him, and yet he finds himself inexplicably drawn to fire.

Paul was the guardian. He kept the scum and filth at bay but in his absence… the house no longer felt safe. There is no room for joy, no room to grow, everything is polluted.

The impurities festered over time, rooting itself into the walls and floor. It’s wretched and foul energy MUST be removed.

Fire is the only way to save their dying home. Jeremiah is certain of it.

With Jerome at the park and Lila trekking to the nearest gas station, Jeremiah can ascertain and complete his mission.

 

* * *

 

Jeremiah layers blankets over the oven and he turns the burners on high.

Next, he splashes vegetable oil and cleaning chemicals onto the floor and walls. Whatever flammable substances he can get his hands on, he soaks the furniture in it.  

The last thing Jeremiah does is check the front and back entryway, he made sure to lock and secure the doors.

As smoke filters out of the kitchen, Jeremiah dashes into his bedroom. He looks around, gazes at his brother’s toys, and smiles. He wanted a keepsake, but that would render the purification process null. He didn’t have very many good memories inside their bedroom, or the house for that matter…

“I’ll have time to make more memories,” he whispers, a proud gleam in his eyes. He touched Jerome’s favorite toy – a stuffed elephant he dubbed ‘Molly the Magnificent’. A silly name for a cute toy. Jeremiah resists the urge to grab it and he pushes the bed to the window. He climbs on the mattress, pushes the window open, and hoists himself out. His tiny frame easily fits through the narrow opening and he allows himself to drop.

THUD!

“Ouch…” Jeremiah landed on a pile of grass and dirt. Thankfully, he landed on his butt – a not so cushiony one at that. He stands up, dusts his khaki shorts off, and casually wanders across the yard. He pushes the gate open and steps onto the sidewalk, just as one of the windows shatters.

A nearby pedestrian gasps, “OH MY GOD THERE’S A FIRE!!!”

“Daddy look! There’s smoke!” says a little girl.

“Oh fuck! Sweetheart come here, let’s get to safety first,” says the concerned parent.

Another window bursts open, followed by clouds of black smoke filtering out of the openings.

Flames eat away at the inside of the house, soon spreading outside and chomping away on the roof tiling.

It’s quite the spectacle to behold and Jeremiah is mesmerized. He stands on the opposite side of the street, within safe distance, and an unobstructed view.

People are freaking out and rushing to their own homes. Some get hoses out and frantically start spraying the sides of their houses.

Somewhere in the distance, police and firetruck sirens can be heard.

Jeremiah’s smile remains ever prominent, and he never tears his gaze away from the gorgeous flames. He’s purifying their home that wasn’t actually a home. He’s ridding himself of darkness, and pain, and he can heal after this. Him and Jerome, they’ll feel better after this.

Somebody yells in a voice that sounds all too familiar.

There are other voices, other sounds – Jeremiah can’t differentiate all of them. He assumes it’s his mother nearby, then again, it could be the sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda rushed at the end and I was tired. So if it seems like half-ass writing, uh, that's probably because it is lol


	8. Jerome Valeska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harleen presents her findings to Professor Hugo Strange, including a theory explaining the multiple voices. Hugo isn't enthusiastic about his colleague's questionable methods, but he grants her more time with Patient E-146. 
> 
> The psychologist meets one of Jeremiah's alternate personas, who isn't shy or withdrawn. He gives his name readily and it shocks Harleen once she learns the identity of the charismatic boy.

_“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”_

Hugo’s bushy eyebrows furrow and the corner of his mouth pinches in quiet contemplation.

Harleen hovers across the desk, anxiously observing the professor’s reaction.

The demented laughter continues for several minutes and suddenly everything falls quiet. No more voices, just the soft creaking of a mattress, followed by steady respiratory.

“There’s nothing else on the recording, I checked.” The psychologist reaches over, picks the digital recorder up, and shuts it off. “I counted 5 voices.”

“5?” Hugo leans back in his chair and taps his fingers together, he seems uninterested. “What is it you believe you found Miss Quinzel?”

“Excuse me?” Harleen is taken aback by the nonchalant attitude and she points to the digital recording in her hand. “Patient E-146 was having a FULL-FLEDGED conversation with 4 other individuals. I believe they’re alternate personas, leading to the conclusion that Patient E-146 suffers from dissociative identity disorder.”

Hugo hums in amusement, “A rudimentary supposition at best. How does one draw a conclusion based on lack of tests and evidence? Also, I didn’t authorize your actions. You did this without the patient’s consent, therefore violating his rights to privacy.”

“It’s not like a put a camera in his cell for crying out loud!” Harleen squeezes the digital recorder, internally reminding herself to calm down; Hugo was always good at getting a rise from her. “You said, and I quote: Get him to communicate his thoughts, whether it’s through verbal communication, handwritten notes, physical gestures, or have him sing a fucking Christmas carol for all I care.” She waves the device in front of Hugo’s face. “Well that’s _exactly_ what I did.”  

Hugo and Harleen have a silent stare down.  

Neither speaks, and they consider their next choice of words.

“You’re awfully invested in this patient,” Hugo remarks.

“As are you,” Harleen deadpans. “You and Miss Peabody are adamant about taking my patient away. What’s the rush? Got a deadline to meet at Indian Hill?”

Animosity flashes in Hugo’s eyes and his face hardens, his tone dangerous: “You’re on thin ice as it is Miss Quinzel, tread carefully.”

The venom in her supervisor’s voice startles Harleen and she takes a step back, quickly revaluating her situation. She switches gears and decides to put her ego aside. “You’re right, I haven’t conducted any tests and there’s no verifiable evidence to support my theory.” She relaxes her body posture and tucks her hands behind her back. She stands proper and speaks to the elder in a respectful manner. “Please excuse my outburst, I stepped out of line and conducted myself in an unprofessional manner.”

Hugo waits.

“I offer my sincerest apologies. It won’t happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t.” Hugo acknowledges the apology but doesn’t quite accept it. Although, he was hoping to get Jeremiah Valeska over to Peabody and start a new regimen of treatment options, he must address Harleen’s findings. “Your patient is a talented impressionist.”

“That could very well be the case,” Harleen remarks. “I won’t know until I rule out other diagnoses and in order to do that, I’ll need more time with him.”

“Accurately diagnosing children with dissociative identity disorder can be a challenge… Have you noted anything in your sessions that could rule in D.I.D.?”

Harleen jumps at the chance to explain her observations – she’d been up all night, thoroughly scouring her handwritten notes and reexamining each digital recording.  “Patient E-146 experiences frequent trance-like states during sessions and inside his quarters, noted by several security guards. Based on our last session, patient has endured recurrent periods of amnesia. He has no memory of his time here at Arkham, or the event leading up to his incarceration.”

“You mean your _only_ successful session?” Hugo isn’t impressed, “Is that all?”

“No.” Harleen shakes her head and continues, “Patient has shown dramatic changes in preferences, such as food. I’ve spoken to some of the orderlies who’ve taken special requests for tea and bread. Now, this continued for 2 months, the patient wouldn’t eat anything else but a slice of bread and jelly, and he’d only drink tea. After the 2-month mark, he suddenly switched preferences and consumed only diary and meat products – no vegetables, no bread, and he requested they stop sending tea and start providing milk. This goes on for almost 3 months, and the patient switches again, opting for vegetables and fruits, no dairy or meat products, and he’ll only drink water. Now tell me Professor, how many children do you know who are capable of adjusting their food palates in a short amount of time?”

“First of all, I don’t know enough children to make a comparison-”

“Furthermore,” Harleen interrupts, “Patient E-146 articulated changes in language, accent, and voice.” She tapped an unopened folder on Hugo’s desk. “I transcribed the digital recording into physical notes. I noticed a change in tone and volume when each voice spoke, suggesting female and male personalities.”

Hugo opens the folder and picks up her notes, skimming over the neat handwriting. “Do you understand the arduous task you’re about to undertake?”  

“I do.”

There’s a long pause while Hugo flips through her notes.

“Could you imagine what this could do for Arkham?”

“Hm?” Hugo glances up.

Harleen has a wistful look on her face, “Properly diagnosing and treating Arkham Asylum’s YOUNGEST patient. He’ll undergo the fastest rehabilitation and reintegrate back into society, presumably by the time he’s legal. Most patients take a decade, if not more, to be considered sane. A success story like Jeremiah Valeska will draw attention, possibly new donors. We can fix up the facility, create new programs, address understaffing and-”

“Enough.” Hugo closes the folder and hands it back to his colleague, “You’ve obviously thought this through, however, try leading with that pitch the next time around. Could’ve saved us both some time.”

“Right… Sorry.” Harleen takes the folder and grips it apprehensively, “So…. Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Indeed.” Hugo sighs like an indulgent parent who’s about to regret letting his children pick out candy from the store. He opens his mouth, only to pause when his mobile pager starts vibrating. He reads the text quietly and stuffs the pager into his pocket. “You may continue your work with Patient E-146.”

“Thank you!” Harleen practically squeals at the victory.

Hugo collects a clipboard and set of keys from the desk drawer. He stands, adjusts his ID badge against his breast pocket, and moves around the desk. “Exercise due diligence Ms. Quinzel and watch the boy closely.” He pauses on his way out and glances over his shoulder at her. “The problem with the wise is they are so filled with doubts and questions, while fools are so certain about things.”

Harleen’s delighted expression falters and she visibly scowls. Of course, she’s happy about the outcome and doesn’t want to jeopardize anything. She chooses to overlook the insult, “I’ll lock your office up.”

“Good girl,” Hugo flashes that arrogant smile of his, all teeth, no gums. He exits the door and promptly makes his way down the hall, towards the elevator.

Her blood boils over the demeaning reference but Harleen proceeds to shut the lights off anyway and lock the door to Hugo’s office.

 

* * *

 

Harleen doesn’t want to focus on any food experiments today. It’s already been established Jeremiah has different taste preferences, depending on which alternate persona he’s revised to. For now, she simply wants to focus on the recording. She’s genuinely curious how the patient will react and if he’ll deny the multiple voices are him.

As she waited for the orderlies to escort Jeremiah over, Harleen couldn’t help but consider Hugo’s words. Maybe this is an act, maybe Jeremiah knew what would happen to him if he was deemed sane. He’ll transfer out of Arkham and go straight to a juvenile facility, where he’ll reside until his 18th birthday. Afterwards, depending on how the judge wishes to proceed, there could be a trial where Jeremiah will face murder charges. Harvey Dent, district attorney, will see to it Jeremiah receives maximum – life in prison.

On the other hand, should Jeremiah receive a mental health diagnosis, then he’ll spend the better part of his life in Arkham. It can take years to diagnose, and even longer to treat a disorder, or multiple disorders. Once Jeremiah’s an adult, he’ll have to learn how to seek out a job and housing, as well as budgeting for bills and food. They don’t have any programs at the facility that can prepare him for real-life problems.

No matter what angle the situation is viewed from, Jeremiah is up the creek without a paddle. In other words, his existence is bleak from here on out.

The metal door slides open and Jeremiah Valeska enters first, with two orderlies behind him.

Harleen offers a friendly smile and greeting, “Good afternoon Mr. Valeska.” She gets up, walks around the table, and pulls out his chair for him. She immediately notices his glasses are missing. “Where are your glasses?”

“We couldn’t find em’,” one of the orderlies grunts.

“Really?” Concerned, Harleen addresses the patient. “Mr. Valeska would you prefer to do this session with your glasses? I’m sure we can find competent staff who know how to conduct a thorough sweep inside a cell.”  

The two orderlies glare at her. They grumble insults under their breathe and saunter out of the room, the metal door closing behind them.

Confined in a straitjacket, Jeremiah shuffles over to his chair and takes a seat. He’s got this subtle smirk on his face and there’s a hungry intensity in his eyes, like how a predator might stalk its prey.

Harleen ignores the unsettling pit in her stomach. Jeremiah is a timid, awkward child, who avoids eye-contact at all costs. Yet here he was, upholding her gaze and sneering almost. “I’ll take that as a no?” She resumes her seat and rests her hands on her lap. There are no treats and toys on the table this time, only a clipboard, a pen, and a digital recorder.

Jeremiah cocks his head to the right, and he stares at the object on the table.

Another curious detail Harleen picks up on is Jeremiah’s hairstyle. Normally, it’s combed with a neat side part but this time it’s lacking a part, and tufts of hair stuck out in random directions – similar to bedhead. She leans forward in her seat, “Rough night sleeping?”

Emerald hues flicker to Harleen’s blue orbs, “Is that yer name?”

“Huh?” Harleen looks down and she spots her ID badge resting against her chest; she prefers to wear hers on a black lanyard instead of using clips. “Yes… You know who I am.”

“Doctor Harleen _Quinzel_ ” he rolls the ‘l’ off his tongue. “Huh… So, yer the bitch who made my brother cry.”

“W-what?” Harleens eyes widen.

“Look, just cuz yer easy on the eyes and got a rockin’ hot bod, that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like shit. Ya have any idea how long it took me to calm him down?” Jeremiah frowns and shakes his head disapprovingly, “Days! He wouldn’t stop cryin’ over what ya told him. Yer supposed to be a doctor, right? Yer supposed to help people and what not? Well why the fuck would ya lie to a kid?”

“Y-yes, I’m a doctor and I didn’t lie-” Harleen trails off and she blinks, recognition hit her fast – the way Jeremiah was annunciating his words, that Brooklyn tinge, it was one of the voices from the recording.

Jeremiah snaps his eyes, “Pfft! You doctors are all the same… Buncha lyin’ hypocrites who use us to get off on their sick kinks.”

“….” Harleen remains quiet, and she studies Jeremiah’s facial expression and body language. The redhead is leaning back in his seat, and he’s using his heels to tip the chair back. He seems calm, a little irritated, and somewhat conceited. This wasn’t Jeremiah Valeska, or at least, the version she’d grown accustomed to seeing over these past few months. She inhales a deep breath, exhales slowly, and asks him a single question: “Are you Jeremiah Valeska?”

“No!” The redhead scoffs and he slams the chair back down. He inclines forward, getting up in Harleen’s face. “What’s the matter doc? Can’t tell us apart?”

Harleen doesn’t back down. She can feel Jeremiah’s breath against her face, there’s a lingering mint scent. “Us… Do you mean to tell me… _You_ are Jerome Valeska?”  

“Bingo!” Jerome cackles loudly and he leans back in his seat, tapping both shoes on the floor. “Sheesh took ya long enough. I thought doctors are supposed to be smart? Or did ya get that degree using yer pretty mouth and legs?”

“I’m going to ignore the flattering but highly inappropriate comments.” Harleen picks up her clipboard and activates the digital recorder – she should’ve turned it on 5 minutes ago to catch the first part of their conversation. “What exactly did I say to make your brother cry?”

The boy glowers for a second and he turns his head to the side, as though he couldn’t stand the sight of her. He spoke through a tightly clenched jaw, “Ya told him he couldn’t go home and how he’s been locked up in this place for months… and on top of that ya said we couldn’t see each other.” He turns to face the blonde, nostrils flaring slightly. “Yer a shitty person for keeping us apart.”

“Jerem-, Jerome, there’s no need for vulgar language.”

“Fuck off.”

“What’s with the hostility? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“NO!” Jeremiah snaps. “Ya think I’d accept yer help after what ya did?” His body is tense, and his shoulders bunch up. He pushes out a shaky breath and stares at the digital recorder again. “Yer no good for Jeremiah. I won’t let you fuck him over like that lying whore did….”

“Who?” Harleen has a feeling Jeremiah, or Jerome, knows about the recording and how she stashed the item under his mattress.

Jeremiah draws in a sharp breath and mutters, “Lila.”

“Your mother?”

The redhead erupts into a fit of hysterical giggles. “M-mother!? Hahahahaha!!!” He rocks from side-to-side, making the chair tip from one side to the next. “That _whore_ isn’t our mother. She’s just an egg donor, nothing else.”

Harleen initially wanted to focus on the tape recording, but this was far more intriguing and engaging. Jeremiah Valeska didn’t want to interact in sessions, and it was difficult getting him to answer questions. This version, albeit bad-mannered and hyperactive, is more indulgent. At least now she had a name for one of the voices, although, it was confusing as hell – Jeremiah had a persona that acted and portrayed Jerome Valeska, his twin brother. Harleen doesn’t recall reading ANY of that in her collection of medical journals and case studies. People with dissociative identity disorder often create personalities that can reflect attitudes and behaviors of those around them – a close family member or a friend, and sometimes a fictional character from a movie or book.

It would seem she dove into the rabbit hole too soon, and now she’s disorientated.

“Jerome?”

Jeremiah looks at her.

“Did Lila ever abuse you and your brother?”

“Whaddya think?”  

“I don’t know, neither of you want to discuss your upbringing… But you do seem protective over Jeremiah.”

“I’m his brother, that’s what brothers do.”

“Mothers can protect their sons too.”

“Shows what you know,” Jeremiah wiggles his stiff arms in the straitjacket. “Tell me doc, ya got any kids at home?”

“No, I do not.”

“Then ya don’t know anything about being a mom.”

“I was raised by a single mom. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Nope.” Jeremiah stops struggling against the restraints and he studies Harleen’s worried expression. “What’s the endgame here doc?”

Harleen quirks an eyebrow and sets the clipboard down. She twirls the pen in her right hand, “Could you be more specific?”

Jeremiah points to the digital recorder. “Ya got Jeremiah on tape talking to himself… Kid is nuttier than a coconut and ya got proof. So, what now? Ya turn it over to yer boss and my brother gets locked up in the nuthouse for the rest of his life?”

“No, I don’t want to lock Jeremiah up, but his lack of participation will extend his stay, indefinitely.” She pauses and goes on to add, “Should I keep this evidence to myself and determine your brother sane… He’ll transfer out of Arkham and go to a juvenile facility, after that it’s prison.”

“Are you shitting me?” Jeremiah’s self-assured attitude deflates. He slumps down in his chair and his head hangs, chin-to-chest. He stares at the floor, his face unreadable.

Harleen relinquishes the pen on the tabletop and rises to her feet. She walks around the table stands in front of her patient. “I want to help your brother, actually I’d rather help both of you.”

Jeremiah gives a curt laugh.

“I’m serious,” Harleen readies herself for a violent reaction. She extends her right hand and gently cups Jeremiah’s chin between thumb and forefinger. She applies pressure and tilts the boy’s head, until they’re both staring at one another. “I promise I won’t pull another dirty trick like that ever again. I’ll be honest with you, every step of the way, and in return I need you to do the same. Is that fair Jerome?”

The redhead tenses, however, he holds the psychologist’s gaze and listens attentively. He’s quiet, for about a minute or so, and then he nods. “Fine, whatever ya want doc. Honest Joe is my middle name~”

“No, it isn’t.” Harleen smiles and releases his chin.

“It’s just a joke dollface, lighten up.” Jeremiah grins, “So whaddya wanna know doc? What’s the burning question on yer mind?”

Harleen goes for the biggest question, “Why did you kill your mother?”

The kid snickers at the accusation. “What makes you think I did it?”

“Did Jeremiah do it?”

“HAH! He could kill a hamster, maybe a cat or dog, but a person? He’d shit his pants and break down crying. He couldn’t kill Lila even if he tried.”

“Why not?”

Jeremiah shrugs, “Guess he loves her or some sappy shit like that.”

“And you don’t?”

“I _hate_ her.” Jeremiah bristles, “She’s a hateful cunt who beats on her kids for no reason.”  

Harleen leans against the table a bit, “Do you have any idea who killed her?”

“Nope, but if I did, I’d shake their hand and thank em’.” Jeremiah sighs dreamily, “I wish I was there… I’d give anything to see the bitch choke on her own blood. Yeah, bet it’s a real rush watching the life fade from someone’s eyes, gets me fired up thinkin’ about it~” He squirms in his chair slightly.

The words repeat inside her head and Harleen isn’t sure if Jeremiah is deliberately providing false details about Lila’s murder; her death was a result of blunt force trauma, there was no choking. She considers the possibility of one of Jeremiah’s personalities taking over and killing Lila Valeska. If that’s what happened, then it could account for lapse in memory.

“Mind if I stretch my legs?”

The question snaps Harleen out of her thoughts, and she nods. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Thanks.” The kid stands up and walk around in a circle, attempting to get circulation in his legs. “Hey doc… What does Keanu Reeves and a serial killer who strangles his victims have in common?”

Morbid jokes, Harleen was into it. “Tell me.”

“They’re both breathtaking.”

Harleen giggles, “Good one! Okay, I have one for you. What’s a serial killer’s favorite topping?”

“Hmm…” Jeremiah stops behind his chair, “What is it?”

“Chopped dates.”

“Chopped dates!!!” Jeremiah howls with laughter. “HAHA! He chops his dates up and sprinkles them all over his ice cream!”

“Or a salad, maybe?”

“Oooh a cheap date, that’s classy.” Jeremiah is grinning from ear-to-ear, that is, until something falls from behind his back.

A silver buckle, used to restrain the leather straps behind him, slips out of his hand and lands on the floor.

PING!

Metal against tiled floor.

Harleen stiffens up.

An oafish laugh emanates from Jeremiah. “Hah, hah... butter fingers.”

“HUGO!” Harleen turns and tries to wave for help.

By then all the restraints on Jerome’s straitjacket come undone and he rips the sleeves free, dislodging the buckles onto the floor. He shoves the chair out of the way, rushes over to the table, and grabs the pen.

The metal door beeps, and when it slides open, several orderlies rush in.

Jeremiah throws his left arm around Harleen’s neck and he yanks her down, forcing her to fall backwards.

“AH!” She yelps when something sharp jabs her in the neck, right next to her jugular vein. She’s sitting on her butt and using her fingernails to claw into Jeremiah’s sleeve, but the material is too thick.

The redhead whispers in her ear, “Don’t make me stab you. You’ll bleed out before they can get a _real_ doctor in here.”

Harleen freezes.

“Jeremiah Valeska,” says an all-too-familiar voice.

Harleen and Jeremiah look over to see Professor Hugo Strange standing in the entryway.

“Please release Dr. Quinzel.” Hugo has a white lab coat on, and his gloved hands are tucked in the front pockets; he’s concealing a syringe in his right hand.

“I want all of you to back up to the corner of the room. NOW!” Jeremiah snarls.

“You have no leverage boy, and this isn’t up for negation.” Hugo takes a step forward while the orderlies circle around them.

“Wanna bet?” Jeremiah angles the pen and stabs into Harleen’s neck, applying just enough pressure to break skin.

“STOP!” Harleen cries out, her glasses fogging up with tears. She whimpers in pain, feeling a warm slick crawl down her neck. “I-if it’s all the same to you Professor Strange, I’d very much like to keep my life.”

Hugo glances from Jeremiah, to Harleen, and to the orderlies. He sighs in a sort of impatient, defeated manner and removes his hands from his pockets. “Very well.” He didn’t care for Harleen Quinzel very much but having a death on their hands wouldn’t look good for Arkham Asylum – it would raise one too many questions. “Gentleman, if you will.” Hugo is the first to walk over to the furthest corner of the room.

The orderlies exchange puzzled looks and they too follow Hugo across the room.

“Alright, now what?” Hugo observes Jeremiah for his next course of action.

“Hm…” Jeremiah stares at Hugo, then he cranes his neck, pressing a tender kiss against Harleen’s cheekbone. “Sorry toots, but I uh, gotta bounce.” He speaks low enough for only the psychologist to hear and that’s when he throws the pen down. He lets go of Harleen and bolts across the floor, shouting in surprise when the metal door starts to slide shut.

The kid barely makes it through the narrow opening before the door closes and locks behind him. Relieved he wasn’t crushed to death, Jeremiah takes a brief break when out of nowhere the alarms go off.

WEEEOOOHWEEOOHWEEOOH!

The sound is deafening, forcing Jeremiah to cover his ears. Red lights are flashing across the hallway, disorienting him a little bit.

_“East wing, past the cafeteria.”_

“Got it.” Jeremiah listens to the voice inside his head and races down the hall.

Meanwhile, Hugo types something into his mobile pager and sends it.

A few orderlies rush over to Harleen’s side and they assist her to her feet. “Are you okay?” one of them asks.

“Y-yes, it’s a superficial wound.” Harleen presses a hand over her neck and she feels like something is missing… When she realizes what it is, she gasps. “Oh my God.”

Hugo glances up, “What is it?”

“My lanyard is gone…” She turns her apprehensive gaze to Hugo, “It has my ID badge on it. He can unlock the security gates and doors with it.”

“Not if I can help it.” Hugo responds.

_“Freedom. Run to freedom Jerome. Faster. FASTER!!”_

Jeremiah slams into a chain-link gate and he shakily swipes the ID badge over a digital card reader. It beeps, flashes green, and the gate slides open. The kid wastes no time in speeding across the east corridor. He pushes past other inmates, who stare curiously at the mystery kid – since when did Arkham accept children?

Some of the inmates’ shout at Jeremiah, thinking he’s a hallucination. Others try to grab at him and one, husky looking fellow attempts to tackle the boy from the side.

Jeremiah is much too fast. He ducks, dodges, and dives under the inmate who tries to football tackle him. He enters the cafeteria and shouts at the top of his lungs, “ONE OF THE GUARDS WAS STABBED TO DEATH!!!”

That instantly sets the inmates off, like somebody grabbing a wasp’s nest and setting fire to it.

The cafeteria workers try to calm the buzzing inmates down, but it’s too late – they’re ready for a riot, it’s just the kind of excitement they’d been craving.

Inmates withdraw plastic home-made shivs and they take a stab at their rivals.

Orderlies and security guards are pulled into physical altercations.

Fists and teeth fly.

Blood paints the floor and walls.

Crackpots and psychos alike, laughing, stabbing, punching, masticating pieces of flesh, and making a jolly good time of it.

It’s way too easy for Jeremiah to slip into the mayhem and sneak out of the cafeteria. He slips past two more gates and he can see the waiting room from where he’s at. The facility hasn’t undergone total lockdown yet, or else the ID badge would’ve stopped working.

Jeremiah can already feel the cool, humid breeze on his face and the rot of Gotham City tingles in his nostrils.

Freedom is right there and within reach.

The front desk receptionist is ushering people through the front doors.

Police sirens are fast approaching.

Jeremiah uses the ID badge on the last gate and it’s successful. Metal gears grind together and the gate slides across the hallway. He drops the ID on the floor and walks across the waiting room, passing up empty chairs, restrooms, and offices on the way.

Trembling hands reach out and push the commercial steel doors open-

A strange pressure punctures Jeremiah in his lower back.

Stack crackles through the air.

The boy’s tiny frame rattles with violent convulsions and spasms, until he's rendered powerless. He body slams the floor, his skull bouncing off the tiles. It’s not enough to knock him out, but it’s enough to make everything flash white. He’s conscious long enough to see an approaching figure.

Armed with a taser gun, Miss Peabody looms over Jeremiah and tuts. “Tsk, tsk, tsk… Threatening a staff member, instigating a riot, and attempting to escape… You’ve earned yourself a time-out.”

Despite the painful electricity coursing through his body, Jeremiah manages a shit-eating grin. He tries his damnedest to vocalize a snarky remark, but his jaw muscles won’t cooperate, and his tongue is producing saliva at an alarming rate. He drools like some brain-dead idiot before passing out.


	9. Zachary 'Trumble' Valeska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!  
> 1\. Child Molestation - I wrote a very detailed scene about this so um.... Yeah just a heads up, it might make you feel uncomfortable and that's the last thing I wan't to do. So please, proceed with caution or wait until the next chapter.  
> 2\. Non-consensual touching involving a minor.  
> 3\. Incest
> 
> Minor less damaging triggers:  
> 4\. Pissing Kink.  
> 5\. Drug Abuse - particularly narcotics.  
> 6\. Dirty Talk

Police officers do their best to control the growing crowd of onlookers. Some of them take out their cell phones and go live on social media, while others snap pictures of the dying fire. They act as if this is the first time a house burned down in Gotham City. Maybe they’re bored and this is the only shred of excitement in their mundane lives.

The fire crew works diligently to put the smaller fires out around the house, including the back yard, front yard, and the perimeter of fence. One of the neighbor’s tall shrubs caught on fire but it was extinguished before it could take flight, thanks to Gotham’s firefighters.

Ever dramatic, Lila wails about the loss of her home and sympathetic neighbors gather around her to offer comfort. There’s an individual willing to donate clothes and linens, and another woman has extra groceries to give away.  An older gentleman offers his son’s bedroom, assuring Lila that his son is off at college and it won’t be an intrusion to have her and her boys stay.

“God bless all of you, t-thank you…” Lila sniffles, looking an absolute mess with her smudged eyeliner and rivers of mascara and tears trickling down her face. She suddenly remembers her son and casts a worried glance over to the ambulance. “My baby! Is he going to be okay?”

Rodger, a senior EMT, is currently taking vitals from Jeremiah Valeska. He addresses Lila’s concerns as he shines a flashlight in the boy’s eyes.

Jeremiah blinks and squints his eyes, trying his best to look straight ahead.

“Pupil dilation is normal,” Rodger mumbles. He lowers the flashlight, picks up a pen, and scribbles notes down on a clipboard. Besides a grass stain and scraped knee, the kid seemed like he was in perfect health. Although… Rodger thought it was odd how they found the boy: Jeremiah was standing across the street, as motionless as a statue, and staring at the fire with a peculiar, almost gleeful expression on his face.

Setting the clipboard down, Rodger addresses Lila’s concerns. “Yes ma’am, clean bill of health.” He offered to take Lila’s vitals earlier, but she refused, claiming she was outside doing ‘yardwork’ and required no checkups. When he asked Jeremiah about the fire and where he was when it started, the boy said he was playing marbles out on the sidewalk. There were no marbles in sight, and not a single gardening tool in the yard – it smelled like bullshit. Oh well, it was the cops’ problem, not his.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Lila places a hand over her heart and sighs in relief.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes at his mother’s theatrics.

“You said you have a brother?” Rodger inquires.

“Yes,” the redhead nods. “He went to the park an hour ago.”

“You sure about that?”

“…What do you mean?” Jeremiah’s brows crinkle.

Rodger shrugs, “Do you think it’s possible your brother snuck into the house and started the fire?”

Jeremiah gives a resounding “No.”

“How can you be sure? You were outside the whole time, right?” Rodger pushes.

The questions infuriate Jeremiah and he can feel his mouth twitching into a scowl. He forces a smile instead and shrugs his tiny shoulders. “Right. I guess it’s possible, but I’m sure my brother is still at the park-”

“MIAH!!!”

Speak of the devil.

Jeremiah, Rodger, Lila, and curious neighbors and bystanders turn their heads towards the shrill voice.

A young boy comes racing down the sidewalk on his bicycle, but he’s forced to stop when the mob grows too thick. Jerome doesn’t hesitate to leap off his bike and shove people aside, earning disgruntled remarks and annoyed stares.

One of the cops tries to stop Jerome from crossing the yellow line of tape. “Kid it isn’t safe, you need to stay behind-”

“JAY!!!” Jeremiah climbs off his seat and exits the back of the ambulance, dodging Rodger’s hand in the process. Ignoring Rodger’s protest to stay put, the ginger kid bolts and makes his way over to his twin.

Jerome ducks underneath the yellow tape and his scrawny legs prove too fast for the overweight officer. He slips by quicker than lighting and sprints across dark asphalt.  

The two boys crash into each other, almost executing a head-on collision. They hook their chins on each other’s shoulders and embrace tightly. They squeeze hard enough until bones are popping– it hurts but not as much as the thought of losing one other.

“M-Miah,” Jerome whimpers, “I saw the smoke a-and I t-thought m-maybe-” He trails off after a violent shudder and sob, unable to fathom the death of his beloved brother.

“Shhh,” Jeremiah croons softly, “I’m right here, see?” He shifts his hand underneath Jerome’s t-shirt and presses his palm against his brother’s lower back.

The skin-to-skin contact eases Jerome’s frazzled nerves and he eventually stops shaking. He noses Jeremiah’s shoulder, attempting to hide his tears and relief. “Yer okay though…. Right?”

“Mhmm,” Jeremiah nods while stroking his fingers up and down Jerome’s warm back. “I wasn’t inside when the fire started.”

There’s an indisputable scent lingering on Jeremiah’s clothes and Jerome recognizes it immediately: Gasoline. He had the same smell on his hands when he set fire to one of the neighbor’s cats… Well,  _that_  conversation would have to wait. Right now, the most important thing on Jerome’s mind is the well-being of his twin.

“Lila, your boys are so precious~” One of the neighbors said.

“Cute!”

“Awww~”

Cell phone cameras go off like crazy and Jeremiah closes his eyes, finding the flashing lights mildly irritating.

Jerome dips his head into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck and chuckles, “Heh… don’t these people have anything better to do?”

“Apparently not…” Jeremiah nuzzles his face against Jerome’s fiery mane, catching a whiff of smoke.

“Hmph,” was the only response Lila gave when people commented on her children. ‘Look at those little shits, soaking up all the attention’, she thought to herself.

From the corner of her eye, Lila notices a young man strolling up the sidewalk. He has nice apparel and a fancy camera hangs from his right shoulder.

A journalist? A freelance photographer at best.

Lila seizes the opportunity to rush over to her sons before dramatically falling to her knees and embracing both. She pulls their small frames into her chest, showering them in affectionate kisses. “My babies, my beautiful, precious babies~ Mommy loves you so much.”

The loving gesture shocks Jerome and Jeremiah and they have little time to react.

Jeremiah struggles to keep his glasses on his face, what with Lila’s ample bosom smashing him in the face.

Jerome fares no better and he intentionally moves his head out of the way, trying to evade Lila’s painted red lips.

“Knock it off,” Lila growls lowly. She grips Jerome by the wrist, “Now give mommy a hug, both of you.”

“No,” snarls Jerome.

“Jay…. Just do it,” urges Jeremiah. He looks at his mother and slowly loops his arms around her neck. He leans into her and rests his head on her left shoulder.

“…. Fuck.” Jerome swallows his pride and he does the same thing, but he rests his head on Lila’s right shoulder.

Lila smirks in satisfaction. Cell phone cameras flash away, and people gush over the loving bond between mother and son.

The photographer whips out a business card and hands it to one of the police officers, “Mason Robbins, journalist for the Gotham Gazette. Mind if I take a few pictures?”

Jim Gordon takes the card and glances over it. “Sure, knock yourself out kid.”

“Thank you!” The younger male twists the cap off his camera lens and adjusts the settings. “Officer could you explain what happened here? Was the fire an accident? Was it deliberate? Should we be on the lookout for a serial arsonist?”

“I gotta go check on something. Be right back.” That’s a lie, Jim hates interviews. He tucks the card in his pocket, turns around, and moseys over to the ambulance where the EMTs are packing up. “Hey uh… Rodger was it?”

“Hm?” Rodger looks up from his duffel bag. “Can I help you officer?”

“It’s James, er, Jim please.” Jim pauses by the EMT and casts a weary glance from the Valeska family, to the smoldering house. The structure of the house is still standing, however, it isn’t worth saving; the repairs alone would cost a small fortune. The roof caved in on itself, the windows exploded, the doors melted into the frames, and everything inside burnt to ash. Like the other officers, Jim noticed distinct aromas lingering among the destruction – gasoline, including alcohol (unsure if it’s medical or recreational), and various cleaning chemicals. Somebody intentionally set fire to the house, what Jim doesn’t understand is the intent behind it.

Rodger can’t read minds, but he has a pretty good idea what Jim is thinking about. He surveys the devastation before them and mutters, “You know he’s lying.”

“You picked up on that too huh?” Jim’s blue eyes flicker to the redhead wearing glasses.

“Yes… I don’t know how to explain it but…. Something’s  _off_  about the kid.” Rodger zips the duffel bag and stands up, hoisting the bag over his shoulder.

“Hmm… Why do you think he did it?”

“The lying bit? Or setting the house on fire?”

“Both.”

Rodger considers the question, although, he doesn’t know enough to make an accurate assessment. His fingers twitch and out of habit, he reaches into his pants pocket to grab a cigarette; his pocket is empty. Fortunately, he left them back at the station – he already got his ear chewed off about smoking on the job. He withdraws his hand, looks at it, and addresses Jim. “If I had to guess… I’d say he’s an arsonist, probably gets his kicks lighting shit on fire. Could be a psychopath in the making you know? As for burning up his house, that’s a tough one to answer… I don’t know the family personally, or what goes on inside that house, but whatever it is… it was bad enough to warrant obliteration.”

“Oh, wow… I didn’t think of it like that…” Jim has the emotional range of a teaspoon, hell that’s probably why all of his relationships fail. He didn’t consider linking the fire to an emotional stressor, in which case, it had to have been severe. “When you took the kid’s vitals, did anything stand out?”

“Besides the ugly shiner on his right eye?”

Jim nods.

“Couple of scratches here and there, like he climbed over a fence and fell. It you look close enough, you’ll see scarring on his face, minor nicks here and there.”

“Huh? Really?” Jim blinks, why hadn’t he noticed facial scars? “What would that be a result of?

“Abuse.” Rodger sees his partner waving at him from the driver’s window. “I have to get going, have a nice day officer.”  

“Thanks, you too.” Jim steps out of the way and watches the EMT disappear behind the front passenger door. The ambulance takes off down the street, sirens blaring along the way.

“Mr. Gordon?”

Jim catches sight of the female officer, “Ruiz. What do you got?”

Ruiz sets a medium-size suitcase down and she plops two stuffed animals on top of it. “This was all I could salvage. There’s a couple sets of clothes for both of em’.”

“And the toys?” Smiling, Jim quirks an eyebrow, “Is that considered a priority?”

“Depends who you’re asking,” Ruiz responds casually.

“Molly!”

Jim and Ruiz barely notice the flash of red and in one quick motion, Jerome snatches up the stuffed elephant and hugs it to his chest.

“Molly the Magnificent, you found her~” Jerome nuzzles his face against the soft, plush toy.

Lila and Jeremiah approach the officers.

“Jerome, do you have anything to say to the nice officers?” Lila rests her hand on Jerome’s shoulder.

It takes a lot of restraint to avoid smacking Lila’s hand off his shoulder. Jerome looks up at Ruiz and Jim before squeaking out a soft ‘Thank you’.

“You’re welcome,” Ruiz says, a genuine smile on her face. “Is this one yours too little guy?” She picks up a stuffed giraffe.

Jerome shakes his head, “No that one belongs to Miah.”

“Miah?” Jim and Ruiz say at the same time.

“He’s referring to me.” Jeremiah steps forward and takes the giraffe from Officer Ruiz. “Thank you, ma’am.” He smiles up at the officers and hugs the toy to his chest. Behind Jeremiah’s smile, is one VERY pissed off child. Rage simmers inside his chest, making his blood heat up until every part of his body itches. He wants to scratch and tear his own skin apart. He pictures himself biting into his own flesh and gnawing all the way to the bones until he’s drenched in blood, and the prickly feeling is satiated.

Ugh. Jeremiah is BEYOND frustrated! Purification doesn’t work unless EVERYTHING inside the house burns to the ground. Why’d those stupid firefighters show up? Who called them? God help him (or her) if Jeremiah finds out who placed the call – another  _accidental_ house fire might be in order.

“Does your giraffe have a name?” Ruiz inquires.

Jeremiah shakes his head, hugging the toy tighter.

“Naa, he never gave the lil fella a name. I call him Mr. Giraffe.” Jerome pushes the elephant into Jeremiah’s face while making kissing noises.

“Jay stop-” Jeremiah whines and hides behind his mother; Jerome pursues and continues anyway.

The endearing spectacle has Ruiz giggling.

“Miss Valeska?” Jim overlooks the banter and overwhelming sense of  _déjà vu_. He faces Lila and asks in a gentle tone, “Do you have family you can stay with?”

Jerome stops antagonizing his twin long enough to peer up at Lila and wait for an answer; Jeremiah does the same.

Lila sighs and manages a nod. “Yes…”

 

* * *

 

‘Cottonwood Estates’ is arguably the shadiest place in Gotham City. The longstanding trailer park has housed more criminals then Guantanamo Bay and don’t get the tenants started on the drug raids – they happen on the daily. The establishment caters to low-income families and the proprietor will say yes to anyone who can afford to pay rent on time; background checks are not mandatory.

It’s a hellhole, reeking of scat and piss, but it’s cheap and it’s the kind of place the Valeska family would call home.

Particularly one Valeska, who’s been residing in the same trailer for the past 7 years. 

The man goes by Zachary Trumble now – he changed his last name when he turned 18 and left for college. He figured if he wanted to get decent job, he’d have to ditch the notorious reputation and opt for his maternal grandmother’s last name.

Things go well enough for a year or two. However, nobody told him how expensive college is and how difficult it is to get a scholarship when you don’t have enough drive or ambitions to warrant one. Oh, sure, hand a scholarship over to the guy studying aerospace engineering or to the foreign girl pursuing her doctorate degree. Zachary, with his undeclared major, couldn’t catch a fucking break. He was struggling to make ends meet and his grades suffered as a result. Finally, it became too much for him and he decided he’d rather make money instead of burying his nose in a textbook.

He ended up dropping out of college at 22 and took a job at a popular restaurant in the nicer part of Gotham City. He started as a dishwasher, and then graduated to assistant cook. Turns out, he has a knack for cooking, just like his father Jakoby Valeska – alas, he also inherited his father’s alcoholic tendencies. He (allegedly) went to work sauced up and his boss asked him to ‘take the day off’ on more than one occasion. Luckily, the manager of the restaurant recognizes his talent as a cook; Zachary got to keep his job, if he didn’t drink prior to his work shift.

Zachary got the call yesterday that his little sister’s home burned down – some freak accident in the kitchen, or so she says. Based on their conversation, Lila and her sons need a place to stay. It’s only temporary, as they’re already on a waiting list for section-8 housing. Something should turn up in a couple of weeks, perhaps sooner. He agrees to let her and his nephews stay.

 

* * *

 

Rapping at the door prompts Zachary to hoist his bulky physique off the couch and amble across the living room carpet. It’s 9:28 a.m. and instead of attending work, he’s sitting at home, waiting for Lila and her kids. He doesn’t mind, it means he can day drink and relax.

Shifting his beer into his left hand, Zachary grips the door and opens it.

Lila, Jerome, and Jeremiah come face-to-face with their estranged family member; the twins have never met their uncle and Lila hasn’t seen her brother in over 8 years.

They stare each other for a couple minutes and Zachary interrupts the awkward silence by introducing himself. “Uh, hello boys, I’m yer Uncle Zach. It’s nice to meet you.” He pushes his right hand out.

Jeremiah presses his face into his mother’s hip, and he clings to her dress.

Unlike his painfully shy twin, Jerome takes the offered hand and shakes it. “Hiya Unc, I’m Jerome.”

“Jerome huh? Yer the talkative one and the quiet guy must be Jeremiah?” Zachary glances at the other redhead.

Jeremiah hides his face against Lila’s dress, refusing to make eye contact.

“Yup that’s him.” The inquisitive child wiggles around his uncle’s massive beer gut and he lets himself inside the trailer.

“JEROME!” Lila hisses angrily.

“Oh, it’s no problem sis. He can look around.” Zachary steps aside and motions for her and Jeremiah to come in.

“Don’t touch anything,” Lila warns and she ushers Jeremiah in first.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jerome moves over to the T.V. first and he inspects his uncle’s DVD selection.

Like an apprehensive puppy, Jeremiah trembles in one spot and he looks around the living room, confusion on his face. Yes, he wanted change…. Now that he received it, he didn’t know what to do or how to react.

“Here, I’ll take that-” Zachary sets his beer down on the kitchen counter and he grabs the suitcase from Lila. “I’ll put this in the guest bedroom but I gotta warn you, it’s kinda small…. I can only fit a twin bed in there. I have a couple of sleeping bags the boys can use, I’ll set em’ up on the floor and-”

“We’re not sharing a room,” Lila interrupts. She grabs Zachary’s beer from the counter and takes a swig of the carbonated beverage.

Zachary glances at the boys; Jerome is sitting cross-legged on the floor and thumbing through DVDs whereas Jeremiah is perched on the couch, stationary and mute. “What about your boys?”

“They can sleep out here in the living room.” Lila shacks the remaining liquid, burps unattractively, and tosses the empty can in a nearby trash bin.

Disagreeing with his sister, Zachary comes up with a solution. “How about the kids sleep in my room? It’s a full-size bed, should fit both. I can sleep on my recliner.”

Lila shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

 

* * *

 

The first week is uneventful and at some point, Lila enrolls her children in another public school – one that’s within walking distance.

It feels very much like their old home, the exception being Uncle Zach’s presence.

Jeremiah is the first to notice the subtle change in their mother’s attitude. Granted, she’s still drinking every day and doing absolutely NOTHING at the trailer, but she’s not livid anymore. Whenever Jerome gets cocky, Lila threatens him but they’re merely idle coercions – she doesn’t actually grab her belt or punch him in the face. 

One day, Jerome wakes up without any injuries; enough time had passed for his bruises and lacerations to heal. It’s surreal and unfamiliar for the boy.

Another peculiar detail is the fact that Zachary buys extra food and snacks for them, including several toys – race cars for Jerome, and sketch pads for Jeremiah. He also cooks hearty meals in the evening, and they all sit around at the kitchen table, discussing their day; Lila only talks about her soap operas, she doesn’t leave the trailer for anything.

It’s like they’re a _real_ family, laughing and teasing each other during dinner and going to bed with full tummies. Lila isn’t abusing her boys, Zachary proves to be a decent guy, and Jerome and Jeremiah feel content; they barely think of their father and look forward to Uncle Zach’s return every evening.

Call it intuition, or call it clairvoyance, but Jeremiah can’t shake the icky, dreadful sensation creeping into his heart. He tries to brush it off as impractical paranoia and focus on his new life, a better life then the one he had before.

Turns out, there’s a reason behind Lila’s mellow disposition and Jerome discovers it first.  

 

* * *

 

“Hah! Found em’!”

“Found what?”

“Proof.” Jerome rattles the orange bottle in his hand. “That’s why Lila’s plastered all the time.”

“…Pills?” The assertion creates frown lines on Jeremiah’s face. “Jay, our mother is an alcoholic.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Jerome turns himself around and pops a squat on the bathroom sink ledge. “BUT she can’t get drunk off beer. She needs the strong stuff, c’mon Miah, use that big smart brain of yours.” Setting the bottle down, Jerome pointed to each finger as he listed different types of alcohol. “No whiskey, no gin, no vodka, and no rum. She HAS to drink the strong stuff and all Zachary buys is cheap piss beer, not enough to get mumsy ol’ dear a decent buzz.”

Standing near the tub, Jeremiah crosses his arms and refutes the idea by shaking his head. “The stress of moving made her tolerance go down…”

“Pfft, now yer just talking outta yer ass Miah.” Jerome motions to his nose, “She’s been getting bloody noses a lot lately. Remember when she fixed us chicken noodle soup yesterday?”

“Don’t remind me….” Jeremiah shudders in disgust; his bowl had a couple droplets of blood floating around in it. “Dehydration… t-that causes bloody noses, and so does stress.”

“Christ-on-a-cracker!” The kid slaps a hand to his face, “Stubborn as hell.”

“…” Jeremiah hunches his shoulders and stares off to the side. “You’re insinuating that our mother is not only an alcoholic…. But a pill addict too?”

“Uh huh, went from boozing to snorting.” Jerome nods and he picks up the bottle again. He presses his thumbs over the label and reads the information aloud. “Take 1-2 tablets by mouth every 4-6 hours as needed for pain… O-ox…Oxford-” He chewed on his bottom lip, not wanting to admit he couldn’t read some of the big words.

“Here, allow me-” Jeremiah moved over to the bathroom sink and he gently pulled the pill bottle out of Jerome’s grip. He glanced at the label, “It’s Oxycodone, for a … Tayton Trumble?”

The twins exchange curious looks; they know their uncle goes by Trumble, but who was Tayton?

“Huh… Ya know most of these are for ‘Trumbles’.” Jerome pushed the mirror open to reveal shelves lined with various orange plastic bottles. He grabbed a handful and looked at the names, “Marcy Trumble… Kaidence Trumble, and Lois Trumble.”

Disturbed, Jeremiah doesn’t know what to make of the collection of painkillers. The only thing that came to mind was fraud…. Was their uncle collecting prescriptions under false aliases? If so, what was the purpose? He, and his brother, could identify someone when they’re drunk or high – Zach was never one of those things. Unless he’d incredibly talented at hiding it.

“Miah?”

Pulled from his thoughts, the redhead met his brother’s identical green orbs. “Yes.”

“What do ya think Zach does? I mean, in exchange for the pills…. He’s a cook at some fancy restaurant in the city, there’s no way he makes enough to buy all this stuff, right?”

“How should I know?” Jeremiah presses the bottle back into Jerome’s hand. “I’m not a drug dealer. Put it away Jay, mother will be waking up soon.”

“Hmm…” Jerome stuffs the pill bottles on the shelves and closes the mirror with a soft click. He climbs off the bathroom sink and asks another question. “Lila gets her fix every day… How is she paying for it?”  

“Why don’t you ask her when she wakes up from her nap?” Jeremiah holds the bathroom door open and motions for his brother to exit.

Jerome dawdles out with a laugh, “Smartass!”

 

* * *

 

It’s been 3 weeks since Lila and the twins moved in with Zachary Trumble. Everything is swell and picture-perfect.

Or so it seems.

Jeremiah is lying down on his right side, dressed in blue pajama bottoms and a grey t-shirt.

Jerome is also on his right side, dressed in matching pjs. His chest is against Jeremiah’s back, with an arm secured around his brother’s waist. His face presses into Jeremiah’s soft red hair, and he has a leg positioned between Jeremiah’s legs; they don’t use blankets because Jerome overheats, and Jeremiah hates waking up sweaty.

Neither minds the proximity, each finding comfort in their familiarity.

It’s well past 2:00 a.m. and the two are fast asleep. They don’t stir when the bedroom door creaks open, nor do they wake up when the bed shifts underneath someone else’s weight.

A calloused hand strokes up and down Jerome’s hip.

The touch rouses Jerome awake, but by then the hand moved over his stomach.

Jerome goes rigid like a board and his eyes flutter open, unable to make anything out in the dark room besides Jeremiah’s head.

The hand continues rubbing his belly, fingers dipping underneath the shirt. It traces down his naval, past his belly button, and lingers above the hem of his pants.

Gripped by fear, Jerome remains stock-still. Warm breath caresses the nape of his neck and the smell of rancid breath fills him with nausea. Something course and prickly brushes his neck, it reminds him of a beard or mustache.

Shit, Uncle Zach has a shaggy beard and mustache… That would explain the enormous gut pushing into Jerome’s backside.

Fingers slip underneath Jerome’s pajama bottoms.

Jerome almost squeaks when he feels the warm hand palming his crotch, right over his underwear. The unwelcoming touch has him clutching Jeremiah’s t-shirt, fingernails digging into the skin.

Jeremiah flinches at the sharp pain in his chest and groans. “Jayyy, t-too hard… Hurts...” His voice sounds drunk and sleepy.

The sound of Jeremiah’s voice is enough to stop the intrusive hand.

Suddenly, the hand is withdrawn and there’s movement behind Jerome, like somebody climbing off the bed. Whoever it was (Zach presumably) left the bedroom and padded down the hallway.

Jerome abruptly inhales and chokes on the air flooding into his lungs. He relaxes his grip on Jeremiah’s t-shirt and listens to fading footsteps. To his dismay, the objectionable caller doesn’t vacate the premises and another bedroom door closes soon after.  

 

* * *

 

Another week goes by.

Jerome isn’t himself. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder and he won’t go anywhere alone, bathroom trips included. His grades and schoolwork suffer (not that he was ever good at it before), and he spaces out a lot – more often then he normally does. It’s as though he’s fearful of something, or someone, and he’s skittish around other people. These traits are NOT acceptable for someone as charismatic as Jerome Valeska.

Jeremiah is concerned and he questions his twin about the odd behavior, to which Jerome dismisses by shrugging and changing the subject. 

Whatever is going on with Jerome, he refuses to discuss it.

 

* * *

 

Zachary’s day off falls on a Thursday and when his nephews arrive at the trailer, he’s got an early dinner prepared; baked potatoes, pork chops, brown gravy made from scratch, corn on the cob, and a green salad with raspberry vinaigrette.

Lila’s dinner consists of a can of Bud Light and she merely pokes at her food, unwilling to take a bite.

Zachary doesn’t seem concerned about his sister’s lack of appetite, his, on the other hand, isn’t affected. He’s already on his 3rd plate of food and babbling away about nepotism and politics at the restaurant.

Jeremiah eats a modest amount of food, the salad and raspberry vinaigrette is surprisingly tasty – he has a 2nd helping of that.

Jerome, like his mother, hasn’t touched a single thing on his plate. Granted, he’s STARVING but everything tastes like sand… He drinks a can of Coke instead, and even that barely has flavor.

Setting his fork down, Jeremiah maneuvered around in his seat and faced his sibling. “This is the 5th time you skipped dinner.”

Lila and Zachary continue their conversation, completely oblivious to the boys.

Jerome twists the red can between his hands, refusing to acknowledge the observation.

“Jay…” Jeremiah leans closer and places his hand over his brother’s right knee. “What’s wrong?”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Jerome unexpectedly lashes out at Jeremiah and shoves him away.

Jeremiah didn’t have time to brace himself. He gasped as his chair tipped back until he toppled over with it.

“What the…” Lila trails off.

Zachary hops up from his seat and he looks from Jerome, to Jeremiah, and then to Lila.

Jerome stood up so fast that he knocked his own chair off its feet. He’s standing there, fists clenched and his petite frame trembles. He’s panting, baring his teeth, and his narrowed eyes focus on his dumbfounded brother. “Don’t...touch...me.” The words are accentuated between each heavy breath. 

Jeremiah can’t see without his glasses; they fell off his face and bounced a few feet away. He blinks and peers up at the red blur that is his brother’s face and hair. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters.

“Hey now… I’m sure Jerome didn’t mean it.” Zachary tentatively puts a hand on Jerome’s shoulder, “C’mon boy…. Apologize to your brother.”

Jerome recoils from the touch as though it burns. He ducks his shoulder from underneath Zachary’s hand and snatches his soda off the table. “I’m going to bed!” After his declaration, the redhead marches down the narrow hallway and enters his uncle’s bedroom, only to slam the door shut.

“Sheesh… What crawled up his ass and died?” Lila comments nonchalantly.

Stunned by his nephew’s outburst, Zachary picks up Jerome’s chair and he moves over to Jeremiah. He kneels and grips Jeremiah by his forearm. “Is your brother okay?” He asks, while pulling the boy up to his feet.

Jeremiah accepts the help and he grips Zachary by his shoulder. Once on his feet, Jeremiah dusts his pants off and his shirt. “I don’t know… He won’t talk to me. Maybe it’s the new school, new teachers and all…” He looks around for his glasses.

“Oh, right, yeah that’s probably it.” Zachary locates Jeremiah’s glasses by the fridge. He leans over, grabs them from the floor, and holds them out to his nephew. “I’ll just wrap up his food, maybe he’ll eat later?”

“Yes…. perhaps he will.” Jeremiah takes his glasses and slips them on. He stares at the bedroom door at the end of the hall, his face creasing up in worry.

Hours pass and by the time Jeremiah retires for the night, Jerome is fast asleep in bed; looks like Jerome didn’t change his clothes. That was another unusual thing…. Jerome has been falling asleep in his regular street clothes.

Unable to question his brother about the incident in the kitchen, Jeremiah switches into bed clothes and crawls onto the mattress. He lays down next to Jerome and throws an arm around his waist, deciding he was the big spoon tonight.

Jerome doesn’t react, his consistent breathing pattern suggests he’s in a deep sleep.

Jeremiah removes his glasses and sets them down on a nightstand, right next to Jerome’s empty soda can. He nuzzles a kiss against the back of Jerome’s neck and whispers, “Goodnight Jay.”

No response.

Heaving out a sigh, Jeremiah settles down and falls asleep within minutes.

3:12 a.m. rolls around and Jerome finds himself squirming due to a full bladder. He ignores it for another 20 minutes, until the uncomfortable pressure proves too much for the kid. He opens his eyes, pushes Jeremiah’s arm away from his waist, and gets out of bed. His feet touch the cold plywood floor and he hastily makes his way to the bathroom.

Jerome is in a desperate rush that he doesn’t notice the bathroom lights are on. He grabs the handle, pushes the door open, and rushes in to-

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Dick in his hands, Zachary Trumble is in the middle of urinating and he’s not pleased about the interruption.

No longer groggy, Jerome stumbles and he clutches the edge of the bathroom sink to prevent a fall. “S-sorry!” He averts his gaze, his face flushing deep red. An unpleasant knot forms in the pit of his stomach and Jerome feels the sudden urge to flee. He makes a dash for the door –

Zachary reacts faster. He reaches out and nabs Jerome by his t-shirt.

Jerome let’s out a startled cry, “AHHH!”

“SHHH!” The older male pulls Jerome closer and he slaps a hand over the kid’s mouth. “You don’t wanna wake up your mom and brother, do ya?”

That gross, mammoth beer gut is pressing into Jerome’s back again and all the color drains from his face. His heart his racing, his bladder hurts, and he can’t make a sound. All he can do is struggle, throw his elbows out, and kick Zachary in the shins.

“Knock it off.” Zachary huffs out an irritated breath before lifting Jerome off his feet. He keeps one arm around the boy’s waist, while the other covers his mouth.

The pressure over his abdomen is unbearable. Jerome goes limp and he closes his eyes in shame. He empties his full bladder, most of it soaks into his pants, while the rest trickles down his legs and drips from his dangling feet. The relief that follows is heavenly.

A deep, rumbling laugh tears Jerome out of his bliss.

“Hahaha!” Zachary shakes his head, “Did you just piss yourself?”

Panic returns and Jerome feels his heart rate picking up. He claws at his uncle’s arms and attempts to bite the hand covering his mouth.

Zachary retaliates by ripping his hand away and clamping it around Jerome’s neck instead; he kind of enjoys the burning red welts on his arms. He applies pressure to his nephew’s fragile neck, “Keep it up Jerome…. Gimme a reason to snap your neck.”

The threat works.

Jerome stops moving and he blinks his wide eyes, fear swirling in those emerald gems of his.

“There you go,” Zachary hums in approval. He inclines and presses his mouth over Jerome’s left ear. “You and me, we’re gonna have a little fun…. And if you try to scream or run for help, I’m gonna catch you and break your neck. Then, I’ll go for your brother. Bet he won’t put up a fight~”

The grip around his neck is tolerable, however, Jerome feels like he’s drowning. Anxiety washes over him, crushing him in powerful waves until everything aches. He’s cold, shivering, and wet from his urine-soaked clothes. Zachary’s awful words fill his head and just the thought of him touching Jeremiah made Jerome want to retch his guts out.

No, no, no, Jerome can’t let anything bad happen to his precious brother. He won’t allow it.

The younger male nods and he lowers his hands to his sides.

Zachary’s dark brown orbs gauge Jerome’s reaction and it was as he expected, Jerome had a soft spot for his brother. Admittedly their bond was a little weird to him, but he was going to use it to his advantage anyway.

“Attaboy,” Zachary purrs. He removes his hand from Jerome’s mouth and lowers the kid to the floor, deliberately making him stand in his own mess. “Take your clothes off.”

Now on his feet, Jerome looks down and stares at the yellow puddle; it’s still warm.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the man warns.

Is it possible to experience every negative emotion known to mankind and somehow feel numb at the same time? It’s complex, and both physically and mentally draining. Jerome can’t feel a thing when he removes his t-shirt and yet, tiny pricks of pain stab him in the chest as he pushes his pants down.

Zachary watches his nephew strip with hungry eyes, and he admires the map of freckles on Jerome’s back, briefly imagining what he might taste like. He’s patient though, and he waits for the boy to step out of his soaked pants.

Jerome makes a grab for his underwear-

“Leave em’ on,” Zach demands.

“…” Jerome lets go of his yellow-stained briefs and stares the floor, a blank expression on his face.

Zachary shifts over to the toilet and he closes the lid. Then he removes his boxers and drapes them over the tub. He keeps his baggy t-shirt on and proceeds to sit on the toilet like a chair. He holds out a hand and motions for Jerome, “C’mere.”

For a brief second, Jerome considers running. His gaze flickers to the semi-open door.

Picking up on what his nephew is thinking, Zachary gives a low, maniacal laugh. “Go ahead. Run. I’ll just waltz into MY bedroom and wake your brother up.”

Guilt burns and coils in his stomach. Well that’s it then. Zachary’s the boss now. Jerome keeps his head down and he walks over to his uncle.

Two hands rest on Jerome’s hips and Zachary turns him around, so he’s facing the opposite direction. He pulls him backwards until Jerome’s butt is against his crotch. He rests his chin over Jerome’s left shoulder and proceeds to grind his semi-hard chubby against his nephew’s ass.

Jerome tenses up and he bites down on his tongue to keep from screaming. He feels so repulsed that he might throw up.

Zachary trails kisses along Jerome’s neck, moving up to his ear and whispering: “Do you pee on yourself all the time? You do, don’t you? Got a piss kink that nobody knows about~”

Piss kink? Jerome has no idea what that is.

“Spread your legs a little,” he continues.

Jerome does just that.

Zachary pushes his dick through the narrow thigh gap. “Perfect~ Now, rock your hips for me.”

The kid moves his hips uncertainly, from side-to-side.

The adorable misinterpretation makes Zachary laugh, “Nah uh, wrong direction. Like this-” He grips Jerome’s hips and starts pushing him forward, then pulling him back, and repeating.

The action creates friction against Jerome’s groin, causing him to whimper; he doesn’t like this at all.

“It’s okay baby, uncles got ya.” He noses Jerome’s neck and leaves tender kisses against the smooth, freckled skin. God, he smells fucking amazing, like honey and milk. He can’t resist the urge anymore. He flicks his tongue out and licks a hot, wet stripe along Jerome’s neck.

The wet, slimy sensation was unexpected, and it mortified the poor child. Jerome lurches forward and tries to make a run for it.

Zachary growls and he digs his fingernails into Jerome’s hips, eliciting a painful cry from his nephew. “I ain’t finished.”

“P-please,” Jerome’s eyes swell with tears; his hips are throbbing underneath the death grip. “I-I wanna go t-to bed…”

In order to prevent Jerome from escaping, Zachary hooks his left arm around the younger male’s waist. “Stay still, and I’ll try to hurry.”

Jerome snivels, he can barely stand, and he looks down to see Zachary’s right hand slithering around to his front. The hand slips underneath his wet briefs and cups his flaccid length. His breath hitches and he claws into Zachary’s thick thighs like a frightened cat.

Zachary revels in the pain and he leans up, mouth enclosing around Jerome’s earlobe, following up with a nibble. He begins to thrust his hips while fondling his nephew’s hairless dick – he likes how baby smooth Jerome is down there, including the fact he’s uncircumcised.

It’s just a dream. Just a wicked, horrible, nasty dream. Jerome repeats this in his head as a sort of mantra to distract himself from reality.

_He’s in bed, cuddled up next to his twin, both safe and sound._

Zachary presses his face into the side of Jerome’s neck, panting and grunting with effort. He fucks himself into Jerome’s thighs, sometimes angling his hips up so he could feel the kid’s baby dick against his own – the soiled underwear provides a nice gritty friction, speeding up his climax build.

_It’s just a dream._

“You’re a dirty little slut, aren’t you Jerome?” Zachary tilts his head and kisses the boy on his cheek. “Yeah, you like being manhandled. You’re a whore like your mother, in fact, I’m surprised your cherry hasn’t been popped yet.”

_It’s just a dream. He’s sleeping in his brother’s arms, protected by his embrace._

He’s close now, and each hip thrust becomes harder, more desperate. Zachary parts his mouth and brushes his tongue along Jerome’s jawline, getting a taste of salty tears. “Aww don’t cry baby, I’m not gonna break you in tonight. We’re having fun, you know, some uncle and nephew bonding~”

Jerome writhes and his toes curl. He’s got to pee again, and the constant crotch grabbing isn’t helping.

“Yeah, keep moving like that, just, nnn~ like that~” Zachary curls his fingers around Jerome’s underdeveloped penis, and he pumps him, matching each stroke with his own movements.

The pressure and pain are too much for Jerome. He’s overstimulated, his body can’t handle it and he responds the only way he knows how. A strangled cry pushes past his lips. He ends up gripping his uncle’s thighs and jolts in place, his hips stuttering while he urinates all over Zachary’s hand.

That sugary, innocent voice pushes Zachary over the edge. He came in hot, thick threads, so hard he was seeing stars – hell, might as well have been the whole fucking galaxy.

Zachary pounds into his nephew. The rapid slap of wet skin echoes through the bathroom. There is a _squelch_. Liquid splattering on the tile floor. Oh, sweet Christ. It’s a combination of jizz and piss.

A steady flow of tears could accommodate for some of the muck on the floor. Jerome is a bawling mess of humiliation and revulsion. His legs shake, like wobbling towers of Jell-O. At least his uncle had stopped moving entirely.

“Holy shit…that was… That was something else.” Zachary removes his hand from Jerome’s crotch and places it over his thigh. He also relaxes his grip around the kid’s waist and sighs happily into Jerome’s soft, red hair. “It’s too bad you’re too young to masturbate, I mean you could, but you won’t come. You have _no_ idea what you’re missing out on.”

Jerome is too exhausted and mortified to reply. If it wasn’t for his uncle’s arm around his waist, he’d collapse on the floor.

Zachary doesn’t expect a conversation, let alone any verbal interactions. The kid looked beat, he couldn’t blame him. He suspected there was a dry orgasm in there somewhere, maybe.

“Look at me.”

Jerome doesn’t move.

Frowning slightly, Zachary cups Jerome’s chin and turns him until they can make eye-contact. “This is our little secret, okay? I don’t want you telling anyone, and I mean ANYONE, your brother included.”

“…” Jerome blinks, his eyelashes are saturated in tears.

“You’re a beautiful creature.” Zachary nuzzled a tender kiss against Jerome’s lips.

The younger male jerks his head away.

Zachary smirks, “You got some fight left huh?” He seizes a fistful of hair and yanks his nephew’s head back.

“AH!” Jerome’s eyes water up at the stinging sensation rippling across his scalp.

The elder sneers, “You are your mother’s son, I suppose.” Keeping a vice-like grip on Jerome’s hair, Zachary wraps his other hand around the boy’s neck. He dips his head and captures Jerome’s mouth in another kiss.

And shit does he kiss the hell out of Jerome. He makes it hot, and heavy, and forces his tongue into the unenthusiastic boy’s mouth.

Jerome slaps his hands against his uncle’s chest, and he pushes, attempting to dislodge himself from the gross kiss – Zachary doesn’t brush his teeth, they’re stained yellow and a foul odor sticks.

All efforts to break free are in vain. Jerome simply isn’t strong enough. He allows Zachary to drown him with his tongue, until Jerome’s lungs burn. It gets so bad that he pounds his tiny firsts into the elder’s chest to let him know he’s running out of oxygen.

Taking mercy on the kid and his smaller lungs, Zachary ends the kiss by pulling away – there’s a trail of saliva dribbling down Jerome’s chin. It looks delicious enough for Zachary to lick it all up with his tongue. “Mmm you taste better then Lila, I’ll give you that much.”

“W-what?” Jerome feels lightheaded, a result of nearly suffocating; he scarcely notices the lapping tongue on his face.

“All in good time baby boy~” Zachary places a hand on either side of Jerome’s face and strokes his thumbs across freckled cheekbones. “If you tell anyone about our secret… I’ll tie you up and force you to watch me while I _play_ with your brother.” A menacing grin curls his lips and his voice drops an octave lower. “I’ll hurt him. I’ll make him scream. I’ll make him wonder why I’m doing this to him, then I’ll tell him it’s all your fault Jerome. You failed to protect him.”

Jerome’s stomach tightens up and his bottom lip quivers. Tears are starting to form again.

Zachary gently wipes the tears away with his thumbs. “That’s a promise kid and I don’t go back on my promises.” He steals one more kiss against Jerome’s pale pink mouth. “Do you understand?”

The words come out as a dry croak. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. Glad we’re on the same page nephew.” He nudges Jerome to the side and stands up. He plucks his boxers from the tub and slips them on. “Better clean this place up. Wouldn’t want Lila walking in on your mess, right? You know how she gets.”

Zachary disappears through the door.

Jerome sinks to the floor, throws the toilet lid open, and pukes.

 

* * *

 

Jeremiah’s eyes flutter open, a choice he immediately regrets.

There’s too much sunlight filtering into the bedroom and it stings his eyes. He throws a quick glance at the alarm clock. Jeremiah gasps.

9:48 a.m.

School started almost 2 hours ago.

“JAY!” Jeremiah threw the blankets off the bed and he picked his glasses up from the nightstand. When his vision adjusted, he discovered Jerome in a new set of clothes – fleece pajama bottoms and a maroon t-shirt. Did he get up in the middle of the night and change?

Perplexed, Jeremiah places his hand on Jerome’s shoulder and shakes it lightly. “Jay wake up… We’re late for school.”

Usually, Jerome is the early bird. He’s the one who sets the alarm and when they don’t have batteries, his internal clock gets him up at the crack of dawn. School doesn’t mean jack shit to Jerome, but he knows how important it is to Jeremiah, hence why he’s so adamant about getting his twin to school on time. He’s responsible, dependable, and consistent.

This isn’t like Jerome at all, he NEVER sleeps in on a school day.

Jeremiah switches tactics. He leans down and noses his brother’s neck, knowing how ticklish Jerome is in that area.

Nothing.

Jerome’s mouth twitches. Maybe.

“…” Jeremiah feels an impending panic attack. How’s he going to get school? Lila is probably passed out and Uncle Zach is at work. He can’t go alone, and it’s not like he’d want to. He needs Jerome to go too.

Chewing on his inner cheekbone, a nervous tick Jerome hates, Jeremiah sits back and contemplates his next course of action.

“Go.”

“Huh?” Jeremiah snaps his attention to Jerome, who was peering up at him from beneath a comforter.

“Go to school…. You know the way.” Jerome covers his head with a pillow.

“What about you?”

Jerome doesn’t say anything.

Annoyed, Jeremiah grips the pillow and tugs it off Jerome’s head. “If you’re staying, then so will I.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jerome grumbles. He pulls the covers over his head.

“Jay,” Jeremiah resorts to whining in his pathetic, needy voice. “Get up pleeeaassee? Don’t make me go by myself.”

No response.

Strange. Jeremiah always gets his way, especially when he uses his whiny tone on Jerome. He pouts and throws his hands up in the air (Jerome can’t witness his frustration). “Fine. You win.” He removes his glasses, sets them on the nightstand, and crawls underneath Jerome’s blanket.

Jerome felt his brother wiggle underneath his arm and snuggle up against him.

Jeremiah kisses the underside of Jerome’s jaw and closes his eyes afterwards. “We can stay in bed today. All weekend too, if you want.”

“Pfft…” Jerome scoffs meekly and he slides an arm around Jeremiah, pulling him as close as possible.

Jeremiah nosed his brother’s chest, inhaling his soothing scent.

They’re both quiet for a while and ridiculously content in each other’s presence.  

Jerome considers the amount of time they have left to make it to school. 11:30 a.m. is the cutoff mark, meaning they won’t be counted as absent if they get there before then. He strokes his hand up and down Jeremiah’s backside, “Ya sure ya don’t wanna go to school?”

Jeremiah speaks while his eyes are still closed. “Are you sure you want to stay home?”

“This isn’t home,” he says a little too harshly.

“Mm… I disagree.” Jeremiah opens his eyes and leans in, resting his forehead against Jerome’s. He can smell his hair. His skin. The faint syrupy tinge on his breath. A shudder runs through him. “You’re my home, Jay,” he whispers.

Jerome’s eyes widen like saucers. He stares, his own heart fluttering rapidly. Is his face red? It feels like it’s red. “Yer a dork…”

“And _yer_ incorrigible.”

“You little- C’MERE!” Jerome doesn’t like it when Jeremiah makes fun of his pronunciation and speech. He throws his arms around the other redhead and rolls over onto his back. He holds Jeremiah against his chest and keeps him pinned there. Jerome leans up to attack his brother’s neck with sloppy kisses.

“J-Jay!!!” Jeremiah laughs hysterically.

“You asked for it.” Jerome chides.

“Hahaha-ah, Noooo!” Jeremiah wiggles around while Jerome nips at his neck. Turns out, Jeremiah has the same ticklish spot.

 

* * *

 

“Miah?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, sorry…. I didn’t think you were awake.”

“You keep tossing and turning, how else am I to sleep?”

“Sorry…”

Jeremiah yawns and he cuddles closer to Jerome’s backside. “This is the 4th night in a row… What’s keeping you up?”

Jerome shrugs, “I think I suffer from ammonia.”

“…Ammonia?” Jeremiah chuckles in amusement, “I think you mean insomnia.”

“No, no, I’m pretty sure it’s ammonia. It’s when a person can’t physically fall asleep, right?”

“Sure, Jay.”

Jerome keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the night and he forces his body to remain still, so Jeremiah can get some shut-eye.

The unnatural sleeping pattern extends over a week and it’s really starting to take a toll on Jerome’s health. The paranoia is still there, but pair that with insomnia, well, Jerome is heading down a risky path.

The child is falling asleep in class and sometimes the teachers can’t wake him up. He also falls asleep at the most inconvenient times – riding a bus, hailing a taxicab, going for a stroll in the park and heading to the supermarket. Jerome can fall asleep on virtually ANY flat surface.

The only time Jerome refuses to sleep is when he’s at the trailer. He’ll drink tons of soda and consume anything with sugar in it. It’s enough to keep him jittery and awake throughout the night.

Jerome’s immunity takes a toll for the worst. First, he catches a cold, then it turns into a stomach bug, and by the end of the week he’s got a bad case of pneumonia.

Jeremiah doesn’t recognize his own brother. The sickly, pale skin, the dark rings under his eyes, and the protruding bones – Jerome has lost a significant amount of weight. He looks like an extra in ‘The Walking Dead’, makeup effects be damned.

It’s the 2nd night of Jerome’s pneumonia and he’s running a fever of a 103°F.

Being the dutiful brother, Jeremiah skips school to stay home and take care of Jerome.

Lila watches her T.V. shows out in the living room and Uncle Zach joins her. They’re both drinking, laughing, and gossiping about the neighbors in the area.

Seated on a folding chair, Jeremiah dips a spoon into a bowl of hot chicken broth.

“M-Miah….” Jerome’s throat hurts.

“Shh, don’t speak. I need you to eat this, it’ll soothe your throat.” He raises the spoon and blows over it.

“No…” Jerome shakes his head stubbornly.

“Don’t make me force-feed you Jay,” Jeremiah says in stern voice, like he’s chastising a little kid.

Jerome entertains the idea, however, he’s much too weak to fight Jeremiah off. “Fine…”

“Good.” Jeremiah leans over the bed and positions the spoon in front of his brother’s face.

THWACK!

In a flash Jerome slaps the spoon out of his face and sends it flying across the bedroom floor.

“JAY!” Jeremiah nearly drops the bowl. He stands up, sets it down on the nightstand and clutches Jerome’s blankets. “ASSHOLE! I’M TRYING TO TAKE CARE OF YOU!”

“NOBODY ASKED YOU TO!” Jerome snaps, fingers curling into the blanket.

The two are locked in a silent death-glare match.

Jeremiah is the first to make his move. He steps backwards and jerks the blanket.

Narrowing his eyes on his brother, Jerome tightens his grip and rolls over twice, dragging the blanket right along with him.

“BRAT!” Jeremiah wraps one corner of the blanket around his forearm.

“FUCK YOU!” Jerome tries rolling again.

This time, Jeremiah holds his ground. He threw his body-weight back, accidentally slipping on one of Jerome’s socks. He falls over with enough force to rip the blanket off Jerome.

“Gah?!” Jerome goes tumbling off the bed and he crashes onto the floor.

Groping the area around him, Jeremiah’s fingers brush over his glasses and he puts them on quickly. He sees Jerome lying on his stomach on the floor. Rage swells inside his chest. “You’re ungrateful.”

Jerome lifts his head and scowls at his brother, “I know you are but what am I?”

And just like that, all the frustration, apprehension, and culpability hit him like a freight train. Jerome shut him out and now he’s intentionally pushing him away. The one person Jeremiah loves, the one who gives him a reason to get up every morning, wants _nothing_ to do with him. No matter how much he begs and pleads for answers, Jerome shuts him out.

The powerlessness and betrayal hurts, the equivalent of a slow death.   

Jeremiah doesn’t even bother to sit up. He rolls over onto his left side and curls up in the fetal position. He raises his knees to his chest and sobs pitifully into his hands.

Jerome is taken aback by his brother’s reaction. He grunts, pushes himself up on his hands and knees, and crawls over to Jeremiah’s side. He hovers over him and hesitantly touches his arm, “M-Miah… I’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

“Go-” Jeremiah hiccups, “-away.”

Guilt eats away at Jerome and his eyes gloss over. He lays down on his right side and presses kiss after kiss against Jeremiah’s trembling hands. “I’m sorry I got mad at ya. Yer only trynna help and I’m being a douchebag about it. Look I’ll eat the stupid soup, a-and I’ll drink more water. I’ll even take the vitamins you got me, just…. Just don’t shut me out Miah, _please?_ ” His voice cracks on the last word.

Jeremiah cautiously lowers his hands and he witnesses the world’s biggest puppy eyes; Jerome is crying too. His voice strains as he tries to communicate, “W-what’s going on Jay? Why are you making yourself sick?”

“I…” Jerome exhales a shuddering breath, “I can’t talk about it…”

“T-then you don’t love me anymore,” Jeremiah breaks down. He covers his face again and weeps. His voice is full of pain and heartache, as though mourning the loss of a loved one.

“No it’s not like that!” Jerome grasps Jeremiah by his wrists and he pries them apart. He can’t see Jeremiah’s eyes because of the foggy lens, but he can see the tears and trembling lip. “I-I really can’t…talk about it… c-cuz something bad will happen…”

Jeremiah sniffles and he removes his glasses. He’s close enough to perceive fear in Jerome’s eyes. His brother isn’t lying. “Did…. did someone threaten you?”

Jerome shakes his head, “No…” He swallows a cement lump forming in his throat and presses his face into Jeremiah’s chest. He lets go of his brother’s wrists and clings to his shirt instead. He cries quietly, not wanting to re-live the trauma.

It clicks then. Like finding the missing piece of a puzzle. Jeremiah knows how fearless Jerome is, nobody could scare him, he’s a real-life superhero. However, all superheroes have a weakness and Jerome’s kryptonite was his heart…

Someone threatened to hurt Jeremiah, not Jerome. That would explain the paranoid and clingy behavior. It also shed light on Jerome’s night terrors and inability to sleep.

Realization sinks in and Jeremiah whimpers. “I d-didn’t know… Jay, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, please forgive me for my ignorance.” He can feel Jerome's feverish heat against his chest. He wraps his arms around his twin and holds him close. 

Jerome lifts his head and he kisses Jeremiah again. On the lips. On the nose. On the forehead. He doesn’t have to say it, but rather he shows it.

All is forgiven.

 

* * *

 

Zachary spends his Sunday afternoons at the horse racing tracks.

Lila doesn’t gamble unless it involves a casino; she hates the smell of horse shit. So, she denies Zachary’s offer to go and instead focuses on chores. Of course, she only finishes half the dishes, and she forgets the laundry in the washer. She sweeps the kitchen, doesn’t mop, and there’s no way in hell she’s going to clean the bathroom. Eventually, she settles on the couch with a 6-pack of beer next to her.  

Jeremiah is in the middle of the living room floor, lying on his stomach, with a giant sketch pad open before him. He uses a number-2 pencil and draws an elaborate labyrinth.

Jerome is lying next to his twin, a race care in each hand. He makes engine noises and rams the vehicles into each other, pretending an explosion happened.

The house phone starts ringing.

Exasperated she has to miss her show, Lila climbs off the couch and marches over to the kitchen. She swipes the phone off the receiver and answers it. “Yeah?”

Suddenly Lila looks surprised and her tone changes dramatically – it goes up an octave.

“Hello Mrs. Torrington, yes I’m doing well. Thank you for asking. How’s your family?”

Jerome and Jeremiah stop what they’re doing, and they observe their mother. They recognize the name ‘Torrington’, she was the social worker who interviewed them after the house fire.  

“Oh, that’s lovely to hear! Children, they grow up so fast don’t they?” Lila giggles.

Jerome rolls his eyes, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Shhh,” Jeremiah elbows his brother in the side.

“Blah, blah, blah, when is she gonna get to the point?” Jerome elbows his sibling back and when the conversation drags on, he discards his toys. He rests his head on Jeremiah’s shoulder and closes his eyes; he could fall asleep right now.

Jeremiah ignores his brother’s complaints and focuses on his mother’s conversation.

“Really? Oh my God, that would be great! Yes, I can find my own transportation. We’ll see you tomorrow morning! Have a great rest of your day~” Lila ends the call.

“Good news?” Jeremiah inquires.

Lila hangs the phone on the receiver, turns around, and places her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. My name came up on the section-8 list and Torrington says there’s 3 available apartments. We’re going to go look at them first thing tomorrow morning.”  

“Oh, okay.” Jeremiah looks down and resumes drawing.

“Weirdo,” Lila goes back to the couch and lays down.

Weirdo. Hah. Lila had no idea what ‘weird’ really was, she only saw the unemotional surface Jeremiah displayed.

“Did you hear that Jay?” Jeremiah whispers, his pencil gliding across the smooth surface of the paper.

Jerome doesn’t answer.

That’s okay though, because Jeremiah can feel his brother’s elated smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man... This one was difficult to write. Took me 2 whole weeks. Scrapped a couple parts but I think I'm satisfied with the end product. I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea .... But I'm a sucker for tortured characters and backstories. 
> 
> This chapter offers some insight on another identity/persona - included in the upcoming chapter.


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